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Morris Julian s 
I Wife 

By Elizabeth Olmis. 

ILLUSTRATED BY WARREN B. DAVIS, 


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COUSIN PONS 


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human world swarming at his feet. 'His creations are as real as 
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volume you can open which does not set forth some deep human 
truth by means of characterizations so vivid that they seem to 
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think of him not as a character in a novel, but as a personage — a 
sweet and true soul — a simple enthusiast for art and beauty at 
the mercy of selfish and vulgar harpies. 


MORRIS JULIAN’S WIFE. 


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MORRIS JULIAN’S WIFE 


21 JToBtl. 



ELIZABETH OLMIS. ■ 

Loo<^iT, 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY WARREN B. DAVIS. 


NEW YORK: 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 


PUBLISHERS. 




THE LEDGER LIBRARY: ISSUED SEMI-MONTHLY. SUBSCRIPTION PRICE, TWELVE DOLLARS PER ANNUM. NO. 64, 
JULY 1, 1892. ENTERED AT THE NEW YORK, N, Y., POST OFFICE AS SECOND CLASS MAIL MATTER, 




r 


» 



COPYRIGHT, 1892 , 

BY ROBERT BONNER’S SONS. 




(All rights reserved.) 



MORRIS JULIAN’S WIFE. 


CHAPTER 1 

A SCHOOLGIRL. 

ORRIS JULIAN was a man 
of the world. At thirty-five 
his clear blue eyes— eyes that 
could be steely cold and also 
melt to tenderest softness — had 
looked upon most places worth 
that trouble ; his cool, strong 
hands had clasped those of the 
fairest women on both sides of 
the Atlantic ; his critical taste had been cultivated, 
satisfied, sated. 

In business matters he was keen and shrewd. 

[ 7 ] 



s 


Morris Julia7is Wife. 


Those who feared him said : “ Hard and close.” 

He compassed all his ends in a quiet, self-confident 
way, exasperating to the very souls of those less far- 
seeing. 

He had formed no close ties. With a few men he 
was on terms of good-comradeship. To none did he 
reveal the real thoughts and purposes of his 
heart. With vromen he had many friendships. 

It was his delight to study the characteristics, the 
caprices, the weaknesses, the noblenesses of the fem- 
inine nature. He adored the sex ; he enjoyed it ; 
but he never trusted it. 

Indelibly branded into his innermost self was the 
suffering he endured when, a hot-headed boy, he was 
played with by a beautiful woman many years his 
senior. It had pleased her to be flattered, for the 
hour, by his worship. Stunned, bewildered, 
crushed by her smiling duplicity, he had left confi- 
dence in womankind behind when, at a bound, he 
entered manhood’s estate. 

He became an expert in the art of carr3dng his 
delicately chivalrous attentions to women to the 
extreme verge of loverlikeness, adroitly leaving 
open a decorous path of return to cordial amity. 
He anticipated with pleasurable excitement the dear 
delight these conquests gave him. For he never 


A Schoolgirl. 


9 


failed to gain the citadel of love, when once he under- 
took its capture. With wealth, leisure, culture, the 
generous impulses of a kindly, if selfish, heart and an 
intimate knowledge of the nature with which he had 
to do, is it any wonder that he succeeded ? 

The pathway was a familiar one to him — from 
formal politeness to the thoughtful consideration of 
a friend ; from confidential intimacy to the tender 
devotion of a lover. Each step merged so grad- 
ually into the other as to be almok unperceived 
until his swift retreat, silent and courteous, leaving 
behind no binding word, no tangible token of all 
that the eyes, the tones, the actions had spoken with 
such eloquence, revealed to the startled captive its 
silken bonds. With self-centered complacency, he 
ignored all consequences of his cruel kindness. 

“ I make them happy while it lasts,” he said. 
“And after? Oh, well, they may miss me for a day.” 

The shrug of the shoulder and uplifting of the 
eyebrow told even more plainly how skeptical he 
was as to any serious result of his trifling. Such a 
man was Morris Julian at the age of thirty-five. But 
at that time he had never seen Satia Maynard. 

Satia Locke Maynard was the name which he 
found himself saying over softly to himself as he 
watched her. It was at the commencement exer- 
cises of a girl’s school— the place of all others where 


lO 


Morris Julians Wife, 


he would least have expected to meet his fate. He 
sat idly fingering his programme, feeling immensely 
bored, and wishing that he had not, in an evil, 
amiable moment, suffered his sister to persuade him 
that family obligations required his attendance at 
the graduation of his only niece. 

Suddenly the tones of a bell-clear voice thrilled 
him through and through. He glanced up toward 
the rostrum and beheld a dark-eyed maiden, whose 
winsome grace was good to look upon. He glanced 
downward to the paper he held in his hand ; and 
then he sat there repeating her name beneath his 
breath and feeling a vivid impatience for the “thing” 
to be over with, that he might speak to her. Slowly 
the moments passed. He smiled somewhat grimly 
to feel again in his veins the fever which had so 
often run its course before. He cared nothing for 
the words she read. Those he considered artificial 
—the work of her teachers, doubtless. He was 
eager to get at the girl herself ; to catch the modu- 
lations of her voice ; to watch the play of expression 
on her features; to study the motives which lay 
behind her speech and action. 

In the course of time all things must end. Pres- 
ently he found himself making his way through the 
crowd toward the reception parlor, where Clover 
Fielding, his niece should present him to the new 


A SchoolgirL 


1 1 


and beautiful star which had arisen on his horizon. 
But his progress was much too slow. He looked 
about and discovered a passage-way which he at 
once explored. He came soon into a dimly lighted 
study-room. Scarcely had he crossed the thresh- 
old, when he heard quick steps, and a white-robed 
figure brushed by him, turned up the gas, and began 
rummaging in a table drawer, without perceiving 
that she was not alone. It was Satia, and Morris, 
delighted, stood motionless. 

“ Not one to be seen, of course,” she exclaimed 
with girlish impatience. “Dear! I’d give anybody 
a kiss for a pencil.” 

Instantly she saw one, a dainty, gold-tipped affair, 
held out to her. Looking up amazed, she met the 
amused, admiring regard of a pair of expressive 
dark-blue eyes. 

The blood rushed over her cheeks and brow in a 
rich flood. Who w^s this elegant gentleman 
appearing so mysteriously, and, horrors, what had 
she said ? She raised her eyes again to find his still 
bent upon her and the pencil still extended. Should 
she take it? But at what price? Each thought 
was clearly mirrored in her speaking countenance, 
to be plainly read by the man beside her. He 
could not tell which charmed him most — the frank 
pride of the lovel}^ mouth, which would be as good 


12 


Morris Julians Wife, 


as its word, the spirit of daring and mischief which 
the tell-tale dimples revealed, the womanly shy- 
ness which vailed the eyes. At last, after what 
seemed to him an eternity of waiting, the dimples 
deepened. With an impulsive little gesture, she 
half turned away, but before she could put out her 
hand, as he could have sworn she was about to do, 
a tumult of laughter and voices was heard approach- 
ing. Her fingers closed instinctively around 
the pencil, which she felt gently pushed beneath 
them. She heard murmured in her ear these words : 

“ The future holds our sweetest joys.” 

Morris had hoped to escape unseen. But he 
had waited an instant too long. 

Satia Maynard, where have you been ?” 

“ Did you get one ?” 

“ Why, Uncle Morris, how did you come here?” 
burst from the group of merry girls who filled the 
little room. 

“ I was trying to find you. Clover,” he replied, 
greeting his pretty niece affectionately. 

It was so good of you to come !” cried Clover. 
“ Now let me introduce you to my friends. Girls, 
this is my uncle Morris ; Sara Brand, Julie Everett, 
Faith Gilmor, and my very dearest crony of all, 
Satia Maynard.” 

Morris bowed low to each in turn, reserving a 


A SchoolgirL 


13 


smile for the last-named, who blushed divinel}^ He 
then chattered with the one nearest him, in his easy, 
graceful way, as they returned to the reception- 
hall. But his .glance dwelt on the slender figure 
and fair face of the girl who held his pencil and, for 
the time, his fancy in her keeping. 

“ Confound these chattering magpies !” he was 
saying to himself. “ Why couldn’t they have stayed 
away ?” 

He saw ever before him the sweet, flushed face, 
demurely arch. He asked himself continually the 
tantalizing question : “ What was she going to say ?” 
He vowed that she should' tell him ere many days 
went by. 

Very soon he was seized upon by his sister and 
carried off to be introduced to a lot of people, and 
it was an hour or more before he was free to seek 
his charmer. While surveying the crowded rooms, 
in the hope of seeing her, he heard again the voice 
close beside him. She was offering him the pencil. 

“ Thank you very much,” she was saying, with a 
mischievous smile. 

He smiled in return, but did not take the pencil. 

It is yours,” he said, significantly. 

How it pleased him to see her blush and struggle 
with embarrassment, and conquer it, and say, with 
a spirited flash now in the bright, dark eyes : 


H 


Morris Julians Wife. 


You are unfair to take advantage. I arn sure 
that you cannot be Clover’s uncle at all.” 

How he laughed then— a low, hearty laugh of 
pure amusement. 

“ You jump to conclusions with the swiftness of 
your sex, Miss Maynard. But your logic is excel- 
lent, too. Come, now. Shall we not make a bar- 
gain ? I am not to exact payment for the pencil. 
You can remember me as the most generous of 
men. And you are to keep it with you always, so 
that never, never under any possible circumstances, 
will you be tempted to make such an offer to anyone 
else.” 

Satia laughed merrily. 

“ Oh, that will be easy enough,” she said. I 
shall not be very likely to think aloud again.” 

“Except with me, please. And now, am I 
Clover’s uncle?” 

She gave him a long look, as frank as a child’s, 
which he bore with grave composure. 

“Yes,” she said, at length; “I believe in you 
now.” 

“I want you to believe in me always,” he replied, 
hurriedly. Then, in his usual courteous way, he 
added : “ It is very warm in these rooms this even- 

ing. Shall we not go outside?” 

He offered her his arm as though she were a 


A Schoolgirl. 


15 


duchess. She was even more than that in his 
estimation. She was the woman to whom he was 
giving his devotion. 

They found the long porch on one side of the 
house almost deserted. As they walked slowly 
down its dusky length, he said : 

“ I must no longer delay my congratulations on 
your escape from durance vile, Miss Maynard.” 

“ You mean from school ? Oh, I am not through. 
I only read the essay of one of the graduates, who 
is sick. Did you think I could write as well as 
that? And didn’t you notice on the programme : 
‘Read by Satia Maynard ?’ ” 

He was thrilled again by her flute-like tones. He 
thought her name, as uttered by herself, the 
sweetest one he had ever heard. 

“ To tell you the truth,” he said, softly, “ I could 
not tell one word you read. I was conscious only 
of the music of your voice. It is needless to ask 
if you sing ?” 

Satia’s cheeks grew suddenly hot. She could not 
have told why. 

“ Oh, yes, I love dearly to sing ; but I hate to 
practice all the scales and exercises,” she confessed, 
with charming candor. 

“ I should think you would,” replied Morris, 
sympathetically. “ I should imagine that it is not 


Morris Julians Wife. 


i6 


real fun, either, to be shut up here all these lovely 
days.” 

The ^irl looked at him with her heart in her eyes. 

“ Oh, how kind of you to say that! I didn’t 
know that anybody so old— I mean—” She stopped 
in embarrassment pretty to see. I did not mean 
— well, anybody like you or papa,” she went on, 
with an air of having gotten out of her dilemma in 
a satisfactory way, “ thought that it was horrid to be 
sent off to boarding-school. I’m so glad you know 
just how it is.” 

Morris -was hiding a smile and smothering an 
execration. Was he, then, such a patriarch to this 
girl, whose face and figure were those of a young 
goddess, but whose heart and life were as innocent 
as a child’s? In those clear eyes he read absolute 
ignorance of the wiles and deceits which the world 
so soon teaches its children — ignorance as enchant- 
ing as it is rare. He read, too, a beautiful confi- 
dence, boundless devotion, unswerving loyalty. 

“ What do you find here by way of amusement ?” 
he inquired, as they made a turn at the lower end of 
the porch. 

“Not much of anything,” was the rueful response. 

Of course we can walk all over the place, and it 
takes in those woods beyond the gate ; we can play 
croquet, and— oh, I hardly know— the girls have 











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A Schoolgirl, 


17 

spreads sometimes. Those are jolly ; but I wish so 
much that I could have my boat here and go row- 
ing on a dear little lake over behind the woods. 
But madame said ‘ No/ and so it is locked up in the 
boat-house at Elm Ridge — that is my home.’’ 

“ Then you are fond of rowing?” 

I love it better than anything except being on 
my pony’s back,” she replied, enthusiastically. 

“He is not here either, I presume?” 

“ Oh, no, indeed ; and it nearly breaks my heart. 
Poor Don ! 1 know he misses me.” 

“ I have not a doubt of it,” Morris said, with an 
emphasis which brought the flush again to Satia’s 
cheek. “ Do you think you would enjoy a gallop in 
the morning with Clover and me, even if you cannot 
have Don’s company, too?” 

“ Oh, how delightful that will be !” was her glad 
exclamation. “ Thank you very much, Mr. Julian, 
for asking me. But Pm afraid that madame will not 
let me go. You are not my uncle, you know.” 

“Thank heaven!” he ejaculated, fervently, to 
himself. Aloud, he said : “ Madame is quite right 
to be so particular; but I think there will be no 
trouble in arranging it. Have you and Clover your 
habits here ?” 

“ No,” and her tones expressed disappointment as 
frankly as they had pleasure a moment before, “ I 


i8 


Morris Julians Wife. 


hadn’t thought of that. It is too bad, and there is 
not time to send for them. Papa is coming for me 
to-morrow afternoon, and we leat^e for home the 
next morning.” 

“ I see. It is quite possible that I may be in the 
vicinity of Elm Ridge next week on business,” 
remarked this truthful gentleman, without a blush. 
“ If you would be kind enough to allow me to call, 
and if your papa had no objections, perhaps we might 
have the ride with Don.” 

“We shall be glad to see you, Mr. Julian,” she 
said, simply ; “ and I wish you could bring Clover. 
I do want her to see all the lovely places about Elm 
Ridge. Papa will take her everywhere. I think I 
must go in now,” she added, after a little silence. 
“ Madame will be telling me that I have stayed too 
long with one guest.” 

Just then they came out into the light, and Morris 
caught again the expression of demure archness 
which had so charmed him in the study-room. 

“ That could scarcely be with this guest, at any 
rate,” he said, gravely. “ I trust that at Elm Ridge 
one is not so soon banished to outer darkness.” 

“ You must come and see,” she replied, with shy 
grace. “ Good night, Mr. Julian.” 

“ Thank you.” He said it as he might have done 


Wooed and Won. 


19 


or a precious gift. “ I shall dream of — Don and 
a laughing flash from his brilliant eyes went far 
down into her own. “ Good night.'* 


CHAPTER II. 

WOOED AND WON. 

Clover Fielding was both surprised and delighted 
to receive a letter from her uncle Morris early in 
the following week, telling her that important busi- 
ness called him to the vicinity of Elm Ridge, and 
that if she would like to go with him and spend a 
few days with her “ dearest crony of all," it would 
give him a great deal of pleasure to escort her. 

“ Isn't Uncle Morris just the most thoughtful and 
generous man in the world, mamma ? It is so lovely 
of him to think that I might like to go. I always 
feel as though I were a princess royal at the very 
least, when I travel with him. Don't you remember 
the summer that he took us through Switzerland ?" 

“Yes, dear. Uncle Morris is very kind. I wish 
he had some girls and boys of his own to be good 
to, though." 

Clover laughed. 

“You want everybody else to have as beautiful 


20 


Morris Julians Wife. 


and perfect a white crow as you have, don’t you, 
mamma dear ? But they don’t grow on every family 
tree, I assure you. And not many crows have such 
a dear little mother as this one has. Aren’t we 
lucky ?” 

Mrs. Fielding disengaged herself from the raptur- 
ous but rather demoralizing embrace in which she 
found herself smothered. 

“ You had better be getting your gowns 
together, my dear,” she said, patting the round 
cheek lovingly. “ Doesn’t Morris say that he will be 
up on the morning express?” 

“Yes. And I must get Robert to send him a tele- 
gram right away.” 

It was just at sunset on an exquisite June evening 
that Satia and her father drove to the station to 
meet their guests. She Fad received a short note 
from Morris saying that he had gladly complied 
with her request to bring Clover with him on his 
business trip. They should arrive on the seven 
o clock limited, Thursday. On Friday morning he 
begged the pleasure of paying his respects to her 
and of being presented to her father. 

The train was in promptly, and after the introduc- 
tions and greetings were over, Mr. Maynard said to 
Morris, with hearty cordiality: 


Wooed and Won, 


21 


'‘My daughter tells me, Mr. Julian, that you are 
Mary Fielding’s brother. That can mean nothing 
else than that my home must be yours so long as you 
are in this part of the country. My wife and she 
were dear friends — but all that was while you were 
off in Europe, like a very bad American,” he went 
on in his bluff fashion. “ I remember hearing them 
lament over your infatuation for every country but 
your own, so long ago as when this child was in her 
cradle and he laid his hand affectionately on 
Satia’s shoulder. 

Morris looked as though he found all this 
extremely entertaining. He even felt that he could 
have endured to be compared with Methuselah, to 
that worthy's disadvantage in the matter of age, by 
the father of the girl, who looked lovelier than ever 
in her simple dress of dark blue, and whom he was 
to have the delight of seeing in the informality of 
her own home, for he had no mind to refuse the 
good gifts the gods were thrusting upon him. With 
gentle courtesy he accepted Mr. Maynard’s invita- 
tion, and was soon rolling swiftly along toward 
Elysium. 

His stay of four days at Elm Ridge was a revela- 
tion to Satia. Never before had she known what it 
was to have her wishes anticipated and fulfilled 
almost sooner than she was aware of them, nor 


22 


Morris JtdiaTis Wife, 


dreamed of her power to make or to mar the happi- 
ness of another, nor learned of her own loveliness. 
How all this knowledge had come to her, it would 
have been difficult for her to have told. The pol- 
ished, affable gentleman whom Mr. Maynard found 
so delightful a companion ; the devoted and con- 
genial friend of whom Satia was frankly fond ; the 
worldly-wise, subtle man, who saw the end from the 
beginning and laid his plans with the artfulness of a 
courtier, might have explained it all to her. 

On the morning of his departure he had an inter- 
view with Mr. Maynard. To say that its nature was 
surprising to this most unsuspecting of fathers, is to 
state the case mildly. 

Why, my dear sir, Satia is only a little schoolgirl 
yet. Can I have misunderstood you ? Is it really 
your wish to make her your wife at once?” 

Morris smiled. 

You express my feelings exactly, Mr. Maynard. 
But I know that the heart of a young girl must be 
wooed delicately. Perhaps it will be better to say 
‘ six months ’ instead of ‘ at once.’ ” 

Mr. Maynard regarded Morris somewhat keenly. 

You seem to be very confident in this matter. 
What assurance have you that my daughter will be 
ready to leave her father’s house to go to the 


Wooed and W on. 


23 


world’s end with a stranger, at the end of six 
months?” 

A quick flush rose to the brow of the younger 
man. He did not reply for a few moments, during 
which time the eyes of the elder never left his face. 

“ Love like mine knows no obstacles,” he said at 
length. “ With your permission, I do not despair 
of winning the great blessing of Miss Maynard’s 
love, which, I freely confess, is far beyond my 
deserts.” 

There was no mistaking the sincerity of these 
words. At last the ruthless invader of so many 
hearts was thoroughly in earnest ! 

“ And if I do not give my permission ? Iff say 
that the union between an experienced man of the 
world like yourself — unexceptionable as you may 
be personally — and a child like my Satia would be 
most unsuitable, and could result only in the misery 
of you both? If I request you to discontinue the 
acquaintance ?” 

“ 1 beg that you will not force me to reply to 
these questions, my dear sir,” said Morris, with 
winning sweetness. “ Let me demonstrate my 
ability to make your daughter happy as a lover. If 
I succeed, will you not accept it as proof of ’my 
ability to do as much as a husband ?” 

“ There is but one thing to be considered, Mr. 


24 


Morris Julians Wife. 


Julian,” said Mr. Maynard, after a long silence. 
“ My girl is my all. Her happiness is the one wish 
of my life. }Vin her love, and you have my con- 
sent to the marriage. She is very young, but, after 
all, not more so than her mother was when she 
came to be the light and joy of my home. But 
there is to be no trifling, you understand ?” 

He had risen, and stood near Morris, looking him 
through and through with eyes that had not lost 
their youthful fire. 

“ I trust to your honor as a gentleman,” he said. 

Morris raised his right hand. He returned the 
piercing glance he met with one just as clear and 
steady. 

“ May the Lord do so to me, and more, also,” he 
said, using unconsciously the words of the Hebrew 
oath — words that sounded strangely enough from 
his lips — “ if I deal not with her as with that which 
is dearer to me than my own life.” 

They clasped hands. Morris felt that a long step 
had been taken toward his longed-for haven. 

It was with exceeding satisfaction that he learned 
of Satia’s promise to spend the month of July with 
Clover, at the lovely Fielding home on on the 
Hudson. 

A dozen reasons were at once discovered why it 
was proper, imperative even, that he also should 


tVooed and Wofi, 


25 


pay a visit to his sister at this very time. Mrs. Field- 
ing, possessed of no small share of the Julian keen, 
ness of perception, very soon became aware of her 
brother’s infatuation. She did not hesitate to ex- 
press her opinion of it with the utmost candor. 

She chose for the occasion one evening when a 
dozen or more of Clover’s friends had grouped them- 
selves picturesquely on one of the wide porches, and 
were chattering as merrily as only happy young 
men and maidens can. At a little distance sat Mrs. 
Fielding and Morris. She was looking with a moth- 
er’s fondness at her daughter’s bright face, and 
admiring the sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks of all 
the other girls. He saw but one. Presently she 
glanced at him and was half amused, half vexed, to 
notice his absorption. 

“ It is perfectly ridiculous of you, Morris, to make 
such a fuss over Satia Maynard.” 

He turned his eyes to hers. They were no longer 
glowing. They were keen and cool. 

“ Oh, you needn’t look at me in that lordly way,” 
she said, laughing. “You know very well what 
I mean. You don’t gush as those boys do, but you 
are every bit as ‘ spoony.’ ” 

He laughed, too, but he did not speak. 

“ Satia is a mere child,” she went on, “ and prob- 
ably considers you quite an old gentleman. You 


26 


Morris Julians 


Wife. 


are, you know, comparatively.” And she nodded 
her comely head toward the slim young fellows who 
were being so delightfully entertained. 

Morris colored. 

“ It will go hard if I cannot distance them,” he said, 
rather contemptuously. 

Mary Fielding looked in silence at the brother she 
loved so well. It was true. All the advantage lay 
with him. She realized, more than ever before, the 
indescribable fascination of his manner toward 
women. How thorough was his knowledge of every 
step to be taken ! how unlimited the resources at his 
command! She knew it all, alas ! too well. She 
knew, too, how impossible it had always been .to 
dissuade him when once his mind was set to gain an 
end. 

She looked again at Satia, whose mother had been 
a dear friend of her own, and who, dying, had said 
to her: “ Be good to my darling, Mary; shield her 
from sorrow so long as it is possible.” She saw in her 
a bright, affectionate, impulsive girl, willful, capri- 
cious, immature, but whose strength and piquancy 
of character gave promise of brilliant womanhood. 
She felt that capacity for great joy and intense suf- 
fering lay undeveloped beneath the sunny light- 
heartedness of seventeen. 


Wooed and Won. 


27 


It was some time before she spoke again. Her 
eyes were full of tears and her voice trembled. 

“ Morris,’’ she said, laying her hand lovingly on 
her brother’s arm, “ I beg you to go awa3^ It is not 
too late. Leave me this girl who is scarcely less 
dear to me than my own sweet Clover. Do not dis- 
turb the maiden serenity of her young heart. The 
whole world full of women is before 3^ou. Go and 
choose whom you will, but leave Satia free.” 

Morris did not reply. His face was white, his lips 
compreSvSed. 

“ Forgive me, dear, if I wound you,” his sister said, 
gently. “jWe need not disguise the truth. This is 
not the first time I have asked you to spare a girlish 
heart, and asked in vain. But, Morris, I must have 
this one — I will!” she sat erect with sudden energy; 
her soft features took on a sternness equal to his 
own. “ I will take her away and put the world 
between you and us. I will not have her robbed of 
her peace of mind even for you.” 

Again there was a long silence. It was broken 
by Mr. Julian. ‘ 

“ Mary,” he said, and his face had regained its 
composure, “ has it never occurred to you that I 
could marry, as other men do ? Why am I, of all 
others, to be denied the joys of wife and home ?” 

“ It is what I have often wished for and long 


28 


Morris Julians Wife, 


despaired of,” she replied. Then, turning quickly 
toward him as a thought flashed upon her — a strange, 
impossible thought: ‘‘Do you, can you mean Satia?” 

“ I do,” was the quiet answer, which filled her 
with the utmost astonishment. Married — and to 
Satia ! A man who had only to choose among the 
beauties of two continents and a girl who was, as 
yet, nothing more than a lovely child ! It was utter 
folly; but what could she do? What could she say? 

“ You take away my breath, Morris,” she ex- 
claimed. “Do you think — are you sure — does 
she—?” 

Morris laughed a laugh which it was not wholly 
pleasant to hear. 

“ You do not know your sex, oh, sister mine, incom- 
parable! ‘Do I think? Am I sure? Does she?’ 
Well, no, not yet. But I shall think. I shall be 
sure. She will — she shall, by heaven !” 

He jumped up and walked the length of the 
veranda two or three times, while she endeavored 
to adjust herself as best she might to this most 
unlooked-for turn in affairs. Presently he came 
back and stretched himself comfortably in the low, 
bamboo cha 

“ Can you imagine, Mary,” he began, “ no, you 
cannot— for there were never two beings more 
entirely unlike than your sweet, womanly self and a 


/ 


Wooed and Won, 


29 


man of the world like me — a fellow not bad at heart, 
but one who has been taught by the circumstances 
of his life to distrust all seeming virtue, and who is 
tired of everything under the sun ? So, my dearest 
of sisters, I must tell you that there is a charm be- 
yond expression to such a man in the very thought 
of teaching a young, loving, lovely child the unsus- 
pected possibilities of her own nature. If Satia were 
less artless, frank, innocent, I could, for your sake, 
deny myself and accept your cordial invitation to go 
away.” 

“ Oh, no, Morris !” she interrupted, in dismay at 
hearing her words interpreted so inhospitably. “ I 
did not.” 

“ Oh, yes, Mary, but you did,” he answered, giv- 
ing her a comical glance, “ nothing more nor less 
could be made of your ‘ I beg you to go away.’ Now, 
seriously, that is just what I cannot do. This dear 
girl — child, if you will — has crept into my very 
heart of hearts, where never woman has entered 
before. She shall be my wife, and I shall see to it 
that she learns nothing of the vanities and deceits 
of the world. Shielded by my love, she shall be the 
beloved and revered mistress of my home, the solace 
of my life; please God, the mother of my children.” 

Again Mary Fielding looked silently at the brother 
she had thought she knew. His strong features had 


30 


Morris Julian s Wife, 


lost their cynical expression ; in the eyes which had 
so often looked a transient passion, burned the light 
of lasting love ; about the lips, skilled in speaking 
honeyed words, hovered a smile to which they were 
unused. She followed his gaze which again rested 
on the girl who alone had touched his inner life. 
Very fair and sweet she surely was. A vision of 
promise lovely enough to tempt any man to woo 
her. Now, in her youthful simplicity, she might 
satisfy the world-weary man, who found in her the 
rest and comfort he sought; but how would it be in 
the future? How would the coming years develop 
her — years that would leave but little impression on 
his already settled character, but which might make 
almost anything of hers ? 

The question filled her with forebodings which she 
could not utter and which she tried to banish. Since 
it was to be, she would make the best of it ; and there 
was, deep in her heart the unexpressed hope that, 
for once, Morris might fail ; that, after all, her fears 
might be for naught. 

When the visit was ended, Mr. Maynard came to 
take Satia home. Mr. Julian, having more business 
in the neighborhood of Elm Ridge, went up with 
them. He was a frequent guest at Satia’s home 
and soon made himself a loved one to her father 
and Aunt Hester. This lady had lived with her 


The Shadow of a Cloud. 


31 


brother since the death of his wife. She was a 
spinster of the real old-fashioned kind, and had little 
use for “ man ” in any capacity. With his unfailing 
tact, however, Morris set himself to win her over, 
and succeeded to perfection. 

“ If the men had been like Mr. Julian when I was 
a girl,” she said once to Satia, “ Fd never have lived 
all my life alone, you may be sure.” 

Satia smiled. She, too, thought her new friend all 
that could be desired. And she was led so gently 
across the borderland between friendship and love, 
that it scarcely startled her when she discovered 
that henceforth her life and his were to be one. 

The day came, before the early snow, when Morris 
stood beside his sister and no words were needed 
to tell her that he had won the jewel he coveted. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE SHADOW OF A CLOUD. 

The first two years of their married life were spent 
abroad. It was a never-ending delight to Morris to 
witness Satia’s enthusiastic enjoyment ; to note the 
rapid development of her bright mind under 
circumstances so favorable ; to feel that she turned 


3 ^ 


Morris Julian's Wife. 


to him as the loving giver of each pleasure ; above 
all to have and to hold her as the very apple of his 
eye, the source of the purest joy he had ever 
experienced. 

With less satisfaction he beheld her personal 
triumphs. Their route of travel could not always 
be chosen along sequestered by-ways, and Morris 
was too well known from the Atlantic to the 
Bosphorus to escape social obligations. Especially 
was this true now that he was accompanied by a 
beautiful and charming wife. Others were as quick 
to see and be captivated by the grace of her girlish 
loveliness as he himself had been, and Satia soon 
became the object of an homage which well might 
have turned her head. But she received it all with 
a frank delight in which was no thought of self. 
Morris guarded her closely. None knew so well as 
he the dangers to which she was exposed, or was 
more familiar with the weaknesses of the feminine 
nature. His old life-long distrust of her sex 
threatened to poison his confidence in her. While 
he gloried in her guilelessness and candor of spirit, 
and believed that he alone possessed her heart, he 
was tormented by the thought that any day might 
bring a cloud into his fair sky ; that self-conscious- 
ness might spring to life, with its attendant vanities 
and deceits ; that the perfection of the happiness in 


The Shadoio of a Cloud. 


33 


which he revelled, albeit with secret fear and trem- 
bling, might pass away like all things else in this 
changeful world. 

It was, therefore, with a deep-drawn breath of 
relief that he stood by Satia’s side on the steamer’s 
deck, and saw the green shores of the old world 
recede from view. 

He glanced down at her. Keenly he read the 
dear face, which had grown more lovely than when 
he first beheld it. As he looked, eagerly searching 
for the faintest shadow of a regret for something 
left behind, she raised her eyes to his. 

Very like those of Satia Maynard were these of 
Satia Julian. Just as crystal-clear and childlike 
were their untroubled depths. They were true 
mirrors of a heart whose innermost recesses were 
yet fast locked. But of this he, with all his insight, 
was ignorant. Blinded by the mighty shining of 
his own love, he failed rightly to understand that 
which she gave him. 

“ Why do you look at me so, Morris ?” she asked. 

He drew her arm more closely within his own 
with a quick, involuntary movement, and bending 
nearer, replied : 

“ Because I love you, dear.” 

The words were few, but they stood for the heart, 
the soul, the strength, the very life of the man who 


34 


Moi'ris Julian'' s Wife. 


uttered them. Never, it seemed to him, had he 
been so completely happy as now when they two 
were hastening to their home. For he was coming 
back to the land of his birth to make, for the first 
time, a home. 

Another year, and this wish, this longing of his, 
was gratified. Retired somewhat from the rush and 
whirl of a great city, yet within easy reach of its 
attractions, as perfect and beautiful as money and 
artistic taste could make it, at his bidding had risen 
the home of which Satia was sweet mistress. Here, 
at last, was the realization of the dream of his life. 
Beneath his own roof, surrounded b}' every luxury, 
his fastidious nature craved, alone with the wife he 
idolized, and whom he believed to be the one woman 
of the world, he bade adieu to every fear. He for- 
got the past, he ignored the future, he sipped with 
supreme content the overflowing cup of the present. 

Satia, too, was happy. With the natural impulse 
of her generous, loving nature, she longed to share 
her beautiful home with her girl friends ; to invite 
them for long visits; to entertain them with a round 
of gayeties. 

“ We will have Clover and Julie and the Gilmor 
girls come for the Christmas holidays, and give 
them a ball on New-Year Eve, won’t we, Morris?” 
she asked, one morning. 


The Shadozv of a Cloud. 


35 


They were in the library, and Morris had just 
finished writing some letters. Satia came and sat 
on his knee and pushed her fingers through his hair 
with the same coaxing caress often bestowed upon 
her father when seeking childish favors. Morris 
drew her other hand within his own and softly 
stroked the pliant fingers. He did not reply to her 
question, and she continued : 

“ If we wish to make Clover perfectly happy, 1 
suppose we ought to ask Will Raymond, too. And, 
Morris, if this good sleighing lasts, let us drive 
over to the Glen some day and stay all night. It is 
lovely there in the winter time, and the girls have 
never seen it. Don’t you think Mr. Dodge and Phil 
would come up from New York and go with us?” 

“If you ask them, I am sure they will,” Morris 
said, with a glance of loving admiration at the eager 
face before him. Satia flushed the least bit. 

“ Oh ! but you must ask them, and I’ll write to 
the girls. And we will go down to the city to-mor- 
row and select the draperies for the pink room. 
Those that Ponet sent up are not the right shade ; 
then there are lists to be made out for the ball, and 
the caterer to see and the flowers to order and — ” 

She stopped and considered a moment. 

“ I believe I will ask Auntie Fielding to come 
with Clover and help me. Don’t you think that 


36 


Mori' is J ulians Wife. 


will be the best plan, Morris? She knows just how 
to manage everything, and I want it all to go off 
perfectly. Yo.u don’t say a word, Morris. Don’t 
you want them to come?” she asked, a little cloud 
coming over her brightness. 

Morris smiled, as he said, dryly : 

“ I think you have not given me much of a chance 
to say a word for the last ten minutes, Mrs. Julian.” 

Then, very gently, he drew her face down close 
to his, and put both arms tenderly about her. 

“ 1 want nothing but your owm sweet self,” he 
murmured ; “ nothing can make me happier than to 
be here alone with you in our dear home.” 

“ But, Morris,” she said, sitting erect and looking 
earnestly into his eyes; “think how much the girls 
will enjoy it. Don’t you want to make them 
happy ?” 

“ I can’t say that I am thinking very much about 
the happiness of anyone but the woman I love best ; 
and 1 am very sure that she does not need our 
home filled with giggling girls and sentimental boys 
in order to be happy.” 

In spite of the tender tone in which these words 
were spoken, they jarred a little, but Satia replied, 
quickl}^ : 

“ No, Morris, of course not ; but I would really 
like to have them come, and to give the ball.” 


The Shadozv of a Cloud. 


37 


“Very well, then, little wife, come they shall, an’ 
my heart break for it !” 

She thanked him warmly, and from that moment 
was busily engaged for the comfort of her expected 
guests. Everything was arranged to her complete 
satisfaction. All the girls and the men accepted 
her invitations. Mrs. Fielding promised to come in 
ample time to give all required assistance. The 
last touches were put to the dainty guest-rooms, 
and Satia was looking forward with real pleasure to 
her first experience as hostess. 

The evening before his sister was to arrive, 
Morris came to his wife with a telegram in his 
hand. 

“ No ill news, I hope!” she exclaimed. 

“ I’m afraid you will think so,” he said, gently, 
“ for it means that we must start to-morrow night 
for San Francisco.” 

“ O Morris ! How can we 1 ” 

Disma}^ and disappointment were plainly evident 
in her tones. 

Morris did not answer. He simply smiled as he 
held the telegram toward her. She took it, and 
read : 

“■ Cannot delay longer. Be here b}^ Dec. 29. 

“ Carter.” 


38 Morris Julian's Wife. 

“ It is soQie business, dear. I must go, and I can- 
not leave you here alone.'’ 

“ But I shall not be alone, Morris. Auntie — ” 

“ Auntie is not your husband, Satia, darling,” 
he replied, his hands caressing her hair. “ It would 
never do lor Mrs. Julian to entertain for the first 
time without Mr. Julian by her side. You do not 
understand all these things yet, little girl. I am 
sorry that you will be disappointed, but we can 
have the girls here some other time. Now shall we 
ask Clover to go with us to California? Would it 
make you happier?” 

Satia could not help laughing, notwithstanding her 
annoyance. 

“You know very well that no money could hire 
Clover to go without Will, and if he should go, we 
might as well be alone.” 

Morris laughed, too. 

“ I believe you are right. Well, then, we will go 
alone, to start with. Thank you very much for 
giving up all your plans so sweetly, dear child.” 

He immediately engaged her in a discussion as to 
the best way of withdrawing their invitations, can- 
celling their orders and arranging for an absence of 
three or four weeks. He was so energetic, so con- 
siderate, so capable, that almost before Satia real- 
ized it, everything had been managed without the 


The Shadozv of a Cloud. 


39 


least trouble to herself, nor the slightest wounding 
of anyone’s feelings. 

Before sunset the next day she and Morris were 
seated side by side in the train, whirling away 
toward the Alleghanies. Just before leaving the 
hotel for the station he had brought to her four vel- 
vet boxes. On opening them she saw four beautiful 
diamond bracelets, and read upon four cards the 
names of the friends she had invited to spend the 
holidays with her. 

“ I believe you are the most generous man in the 
whole world, Morris,” she exclaimed, looking up 
at her husband with glowing eyes. 

No, dear, the most selfish,” he replied. 

Satia did not understand these words until long 
afterward ; but Mary Fielding read between the 
lines of the telegram which bade her defer her visit 
until a more convenient season. 

“ A more convenient season will never come,” she 
said to herself half sadly, as she went to tell Clover 
of the change of plans. “ I truly believe Morris 
never intended to have us all at Julianheim. I hope 
Satia — dear girl ! — will never know him as I do.” 

Satia did not once suspect that her husband was 
not entirely honest and sincere. The trip to Califor- 
nia was a happy one, and she fully expected to have 
her friends with her after her return. But one thing 


40 


Mor7as Jttllans Wife. 


after another occurred to prevent it. They had 
gone very little into society since their return from 
Europe. To Morris it was an old story, of which he 
was heartily weary, and he had not yet found it dif- 
ficult to persuade Satia to please him by remaining 
at home with him. There had been an occasional 
visit from Mary Fielding and Clover, and Mr. May- 
nard came often to see his darling ; but there had 
been no interchange of social courtesies other than 
the most formal. 

And so the weeks and months slipped by, and one 
bright summer day Morris held in his arms his first- 
born son. Who shall tell the emotions which surged 
through his quickly beating heart as he looked 
down upon that tiny face and into the brown eyes 
so like to Satia’s own? An overwhelming sense of 
his unworthiness to mould and guide this young life, 
fresh from the hands of its Creator ; a realization of 
the measureless distance from the purity of this 
little soul which his own world-worn spirit had 
traveled ; a tender yearning over the baby helpless- 
ness, each in turn possessed him. Tears filled his 
eyes, and a feeling akin to awe thrilled his heart as 
he pressed his lips to the velvety cheek, murmur- 
ing : 

“ God bless you, my boy !” 

A new ambition now animated him ; it was to pro- 


The Shadow of a Cloud. 


41 


vide more abundantly for the future of the son who 
should succeed him. He again engaged in active busi- 
ness, investing his large revenues with the shrewd 
foresight which had already acquired a fortune. At 
the same time he attended personally to the needs 
and pleasures of little Maynard as though he had 
been a prince-royal. His devotion to and fondness 
for his wife were increased, rather than diminished, 
by these added occupations. Never before had she 
been so dear to him as now, when she appeared a 
veritable Madonna, but fairer far than any ever put 
on canvas. 

It was not until Maynard was nearly a year old 
that a change came. Much to Morris' surprise, Satia, 
about this time, accepted an invitation to a large 
party to be given by a friend, and insisted upon his 
accompanying her. 

Society eagerly welcomed the beautiful Mrs. 
Julian, and Morris had the satisfaction of seeing her 
surpass every other woman present in elegance of 
costume and manner. This suited him far better 
than a few words which he was fated to overhear 
while hemmed in by a crowd at a turn of a stair- 
case. 

“ Who is that lovely woman talking with Jack 
Francis ? A new face, surely.” 

“That is Morris Julian’s wife. You know him? 


42 


M or 7^ is Julian's Wife. 


A regular nabob, and no end selfish, besides. These 
quiet sort of fellows often are. Keeps her mewed 
up at home all the time. But he’d better have a 
care. She’s too confoundedly pretty not to know it, 
and she has plenty of spirit, too, with those eyes. 
Some fine day — ” 

The crowd gave way, and Morris moved quickly 
on, disgusted and indignant. His first impulse was 
to thrash the impertinent speaker, but that would 
only bring his wife’s name into unenviable notoriety. 
Better ignore the whole matter as beneath his notice. 
True to his habit with all things unpleasant, he reso- 
lutely put the matter out of his mind. But he 
recalled the hateful words long afterward. 

Having broken their seclusion, Mr. and Mrs. 
Julian were deluged with invitations. To her hus- 
band’s renewed surprise, Satia was disposed to 
accept them. She also expressed, not now her wish, 
but her intention, of entertaining in return. Morris 
remonstrated. The manner of life which would 
thus be forced upon them was most distasteful to 
him. Neither did he consider it a proper one for 
the mother of his boy. 

He expressed himself gently but decidedly. Satia 
heard him through without remark. 

“ Perhaps you are right, Morris,” was all she said 
then. But she gave him a look which he remem- 


The Shadozv of a Cloud, 


43 


bered to his dying day. The great brown eyes 
were filled with mute pleading and unrest. He was 
startled out of his usual composure. He sprang to 
her side. 

“ What is it, dear ? Why do you look so strangely ? 
What have I done ? What can I do?” 

He spoke quickly. His heart was beating with 
alarm. His arm was about her. He softly stroked 
her hair. 

Suddenly she clung to him, sobbing like a little 
child. 

“Oh, Morris! I want my father! Let me go 
home.” 

“ Yes, dear child,” he replied at once. “ We will 
go to-morrow. The weather *is lovely, and the 
change will do you and Maynard both good.” And 
he smiled tenderly as he looked down at her. 

Satia twined her fingers around his. 

“ I — I want to go alone,” she murmured, a soft 
color flushing her face. 

His clasp tightened. 

“ Whatever put such a notion into your pretty 
head?” he replied. “ By no means. All I live for 
is to care for you and Maynard, dear child. 1 could 
not see you start off alone, even on such a little 
journey as that to Elm Ridge, while I am in the 
world to go with you.” 


44 


Morris Julians Wife. 


Satia said no more. The visit was made, and 
Morris saw his dearest treasures safely at home 
again before he was obliged to go off on a longer 
business trip than usual. He was absent nearly a 
month. Daily letters were written and constant 
messages and gifts sent to little Maynard and his 
mamma. The hours seemed days until he should be 
with them once more. At length, late one evening 
he returned. He entered the house unnoticed and 
went directly to their room. Satia was not there, 
and he stepped into the one adjoining where May- 
nard slept. As he stood in the shadow of the heavy 
porWre Satia entered from the opposite side. She 
did not perceive him. Instantly his thoughts went 
back to the first time he saw her. 

But how unlike the fair young girl was this 
brilliant, gracious woman whose dazzling beauty 
chained him to the spot, and hushed upon his lips 
the words he was about to utter. He had never 
seen his wife like this. What transformation had 
been wrought during his absence ? 

It was as though a half-opened bud had burst into 
rich fullness of blossom, and stood serenely conscious 
of its exquisite perfection. The man’s heart thrilled 
with love and pride as he beheld the slim, graceful 
figure in its trailing silken robes; the slender throat, 
fairer than the pearls that encircled it ; the soft, dark 


The Shadozv of a Cloiui. 


45 


hair framing- a face whose every lovely line was so 
dear to him ; and yet it contracted with pain. For 
this was not the Satia he had known. 

She moved toward the crib. She bent above it, 
kissing the rosy sleeper, and murmuring words of 
endearment. As she turned away, she caught sight 
of her husband. The radiance faded from her face. 
As with a filmy, but impenetrable mask, all the joy- 
ous buoyancy and freedom of spirit which had been 
so apparent in every motion was hidden beneath a 
quiet self-repression. 

She raised her face for the accustomed IcLss and 
caress, as he came quickly to her side. She seemed 
glad to see him. 

“ You surpass yourself to-night, my queen,” he 
said, fondl}". Then, after a little silence : ‘T am 
sure there is yet time for me to dress.” 

“ Oh, please not,” she replied. “ You are tired, I 
know. It is only a reception at Mrs. Hunting’s. I 
really do not care about it. Let us have a cosy time 
together here, instead.” 

Morris was nothing loath. To tell the truth, he 
scarcely heard what she said. He was conscious 
that she left him for a while, returning like a silvery 
shadow of her recent loveliness, but sweeter far to 
his thinking, in this softly clinging garment of palest 
fx-ray. He knew that she brought his dressing-gown 


46 


Morris Juliaiis Wife, 


and slippers and drew nearer to the fire his special 
easy-chair ; that she rang for the chocolate service, 
and with her own hands prepared for him a delicious 
cup of his favorite beverage ; that, the maid depart- 
ing, they were left alone together. He could have 
named nothing which he missed from many another 
evening just like this one. She was the same gentle, 
affectionate, charming Satia she had always been. 
But his thoughts were busy with that other woman 
who had flashed across his vision by the bedside of 
his son. Who was she^ Where was she now? He 
regarded Satia covertl3^ Nothing in that fair exte- 
rior explained the mystery. He dared not ask the 
questions which trembled on his lips. He was con- 
scious of a curious timidity, a feeling that, after all, 
he did not truly know his wife. 

Once it would have delighted him beyond meas- 
ure to observe, to study, to discover the cause of a 
change so great, so subtle in any woman as this 
which he had seen in Satia ; but, now the inmost 
fibers of his heart were too closely interwoven about 
the object of his scrutiny' to permit of it. Days 
passed, and weeks. Maynard thrived and was soon 
toddling all about the house. He was a fine, hand- 
some boy, the pride of his father’s life. Satia loved 
him too, dearly ; but Morris noticed, with an increase 
of the uneasiness of which he could not rid himself. 


47 


The Shadoiv of a Cloud. 

in spite of the fact that their daily intercourse was 
in no way unchanged, that she seldom took him in 
her arms and cuddled him in the sweet way mothers 
have of taking comfort with their babies. 

They were startled, one day, by news of Mr. May 
nard’s serious illness. They scarcely reached his 
side in time for farewell words. Satia’s grief was 
inconsolable. She begged Morris to allow her to 
stay for a while at Elm Ridge, amid the scenes of 
her girlhood’s days. It was decided that she and 
Maynard should remain there for the summer, Morris 
coming whenever business permitted. 

It was nearly the last of October when he came 
to their own home for a day or two before going to 
bring them there. He had taken much pleasure in ar- 
ranging some surprises for Satia — little things which 
he remembered to have heard her wish to have done. 
As he walked through the beautiful rooms, when 
everything was ready for the dear mistress, he longed 
eagerly for her presence. He determined to throw 
off the reluctance he had felt in regard to speaking 
plainly with her about the barrier which he knew 
only too well was silently growing up between them. 

He recalled with keenest pain that she was pale 
and worn. Each time he had seen her during the 
summer she looked more frail. But she always said 
that she was quite well. Could she be slipping from 


48 


Morris J uliau's W if 


him ? He banished the thought with horror. / In his 
preoccupation, he did not notice the approach of a 
maid. She handed him a sealed packet. 

“ It just now came, sir,” she said. 

Absently he broke it open. He saw Satia’s famil- 
iar characters on the numerous sheets. With 
quickened interest, he began reading the words she 
had written. 

The hour was at hand when even the hearts most 
deeply outraged and humiliated by Morris Julian 
might have pitied him. 


CHAPTER IV. 

A LETTER. 

This is the letter which Satia nad written to her 
husband : 

“ Morris : I cannot come back to live with you 
again in our home. It seems almost impossible to 
find words with which to explain to you why this 
must be. For a long time I have hoped that you 
would see and understand ; but you have not done so. 

“ I know quite well that dreadful things are said 
and thought of women who leave their husbands 
and little babies, and that it will be a disgrace to you ; 


A Letter. 


49 


for I cannot expect that any one but you will 
believe the true reason of my going. 

“ It is because of something in me, Morris, some- 
thing which impels me — something which is 
stronger than myself, almost, which drives me to 
break away from the bondage 1 am in, and be free 
to live my own life. Can you imagine what it 
would be to have all your own self, even your very 
thoughts, controlled by another ; to feel hampered 
and fettered at every turn ; to be all smothered up 
in love and kindness and devotion such as yours has 
been to me, until you feel that you must have a long 
deep breath of your own breathing or die? If you 
can, then you know what my life with you has been 
to me. 

“ Perhaps you do not realize how entirely I have 
yielded to your will, thought your thoughts, been 
absorbed by you, even in very little things. But 
if you will look back upon the years we have spent 
together, 1 am sure that you will see that it has 
been so, especially since we came to our home. 

“ I have tried to believe that this was right ; to 
think of it and to accept it as the usual condition of 
wifehood ; to be submissive ; to stifle my individu- 
ality ; to love the ‘ hand of steel beneath the velvet 
glove.’ Perhaps I could have done this in time if my 
child had not been born. Now, I can no longer look 
into his eyes, and feel that his mother is living a lie 
with every heart-beat. For I am not happy, nor 
contented, nor satisfied. I must be true to myself, 
to what I believe to be right and honest. I think I 


50 


Morris Julian's Wife. 


cannot love you, Morris, as I ought. For \re read 
that with true wifely love comes a sense of oneness, 
of completeness which would render this feeling of 
mine impossible. It must be that our marriage 
was a mistake. I was not wise and good enough 
for you. 1 ought to wish for nothing more than a 
love, a devotion such as you have given me. 
Surely no other woman could have more. But it 
burdens me. I am crushed out of myself by the 
very weight of your indulgence. Sometimes I have 
longed for harshness, for actual want, as a relief 
from the cloying sweetness of a living that oppresses 
the real Satia, whom 1 have thought you do not 
truly know, nor ever did. 

“Can you — do you understand me yet, Morris? 
Can you believe that it is not easy for me to say all 
this to one who has meant to be so kind and gener- 
ous a friend ? If I could bear the pain which I 
know this will bring to your loving heart, I would 
gladly do so. But that is as impossible as it is for 
me to return to you. 

“ So long as my father lived I could not go, for it 
would have killed him to know that 1 was unhappy. 
But now I am going far away, across the waters. 
Aunt Hester will go with me, and, in some quiet 
spot, with only nature about us, perhaps I can find 
the freedom to live my own life, which I so eagerly 
desire, and can make my way out of the confusion 
and distress which overwhelm me now. 

“ Try to forget me, Morris. I am all wrong, and 
never deserved your love. Put me out of your life. 


A Letter. 


51 


But be kind to our boy. Make him as true and 
good a man as you are. Do not tell him of the 
mother who could leave him and go to the other 
side of the world. 

“ I am very grateful to you, Morris, for all that 
you have done, and it is much, to make my life out- 
wardly happy. -It is not your fault that you could 
not make it truly so within. 

“ Satia.” 

The paper slipped from his nerveless fingers. 
He sat stunned, stupefied by the thunderbolt which 
had fallen from a clear sky, shivering his happiness 
to atoms. His heart quivered with pain. In 
anguish of spirit he groaned aloud. The simple, 
pathetic words burned themselves upon his brain in 
letters of fire. How true they were ! Over and 
over again they rang in his ears, torturing him 
beyond endurance. “ The hand of steel beneath the 
velvet glove.” What could better describe the 
imperious, even though kindly, will which had 
transformed the impulsive, glad-natured, capricious 
girl into the quiet, outwardly yielding wife, of 
whom he was so truly and fondly proud ? 

He understood now her restlessness, her timid 
appeal to his generosity, her strange beauty that 
night by Maynard's cot. Then she was herself, 
strong in the dignity of her own royal womanhood, 
not a creature of his fashioning. 


52 


Morris Julians Wife. 

Scene after scene from memorj^’s page flashed 
across his mental vision. Far back, from remoter 
years, other pictures came. Upon them all, in 
characters of living flame, was branded the one 
word — “ self.” 

It was not a pleasant retrospect, nor was he long 
able to contemplate the real nature with which, for 
the first time in his life, he stood face to face. Con- 
scious thought was swallowed up in the agony 
of knowing that he had lost her. He felt nothing 
but a grief, a helplessness, a crushing sense of 
bereavement and suffering. The hours passed 
unheeded. At last he was aroused by a knock at 
the door. Looking around, half bewildered, he saw 
the red dawn faintly breaking. He felt chilled and 
desolate. 

He answered the summons. Kelsie, the faithful 
Scotchwoman, who had been the nurse of his own 
childhood, and who had cared for little Maynard 
with scarcely less affection, stood before him, with 
his son in her arms. Her eyes were red with weep- 
ing. 

Silently Morris drew her within. She placed the 
sleeping boy on the sofa ; then came to the man, 
who had thrown himself down in fresh despair at 
this mute confirmation of the sorrow he had wildly 
hoped might prove to be a dream. As though, he 


A Letter, 


53 


were a child again, she drew his head to her kind 
and loving breast, smoothing the hair from his burn- 
ing brow, fondling him and crooning softly. 

“ My puir laddie !” she murmured, lapsing into 
the broad speech of her youth. “ The heart o’ your 
old Kelsie grieves sair for ye this day. ’Tis a sad 
mornin’ for ye, my own dear bairn. But the Lord 
above He lo’es ye. Master Morris. He’ll gi’e ye 
strength and help.” 

Morris clasped his hands closely about hers. He 
felt like a child, in very truth, who should cling to a 
sure refuge in time of trouble. For a long time 
they sat without speaking. The misery which 
oppressed him was eased by the sympathy of this 

mother ” heart. 

At last he rose and went to Maynard. He took 
him gently in his arms. The boy awoke and looked 
up into his father’s face with his mother’s soft, dark 
eyes. Tears rolled down the father’s cheeks. Great 
sobs shook him head to foot. He came back to 
Kelsie. 

“ Where is she ?” he asked hoarsely. 

The woman’s steady eye searched the haggard 
face before her. How much of the knowledge 
which had come to her during the past few weeks 
should she share with the “ bairn” whose weakness 


54 


Morris Julian's Wife, 


and whose strength had been to her as an open book 
all his life long ? She hesitated a moment. 

“ We came to New York together, yesterday, 
Master Morris. The steamer sailed last night. 
May thegudeGod be near to ye baith, dear laddie, 
for the bonnie lassie has a sair heart as weel as 
yoursel’.” 

Morris grew ashy pale. 

“ Take him awa}^” he said. 


CHAPTER V. 

GRIEVOUS TIDINGS. 

Mary Fielding sat busily sewing, one bright 
October morning. She had attained the dignity of 
grandmotherhood several months before, and she 
was now fashioning a dainty garment for the wee 
maiden who was the pride and joy of Clover’s South- 
ern home. 

It always appeared absurd to Mrs. Fielding that 
Clover, her own “ little girl,” should have a 
daughter, too. It seemed but yesterday that she 
was making frocks for the matronly young mother 
who so calmly gave “ grandma ” points on the 


55 


Grievous Tidings. 

management of infants. Often, during the visit, 
from which she had only recently returned, she had 
scarcely known whether to be vexed or amused at 
Clover’s assumption of superior wisdom and judg- 
ment. Having brought her own three children 
safely through the entire list of juvenile maladies, 
she naturally felt that her experience might be 
helpful. But Clover’s pleasant “ Oh, that was all 
very well for those days, but now, mamma dear, we 
have learned better,” left nothing more to be said. 
Happily, the small Dorothy was in perfect health, 
else the old-fashioned ways might have been adopted 
with eager haste. 

Dorothy was also a little beauty, and so sweet 
and darling withal, that she won grandma's heart 
completely. With the stitches taken by her deft 
fingers this lovely autumn morning, many tender 
thoughts of the little one, and prayers too, were 
intefwoven. As she raised her eyes and looked 
abroad over the fair expanse of the Hudson and the 
beautiful bit of world beyond, she said to herself : 
“ Who could be unhappy on so perfect a day as 
this ?” 

Almost as if in answer to her silent question, her 
brother stood beside her. 

“ Morris !” she cried, springing up, and scattering 


56 


Morris Jidiafi s Wife. 


her work all about ; “ where did you come from ? 1 
had no idea of seeing you.” 

“ No. I — I forgot to telegraph.” 

“ Are you alone? Where is — ” 

She stopped suddenly. Her heart sank within 
her. Morris had raised his hand imperatively. She 
saw his paleness, his exhaustion, as he leaned back 
against the chair into which he had dropped. She 
flew to him. 

Was Satia dead, she wondered, or little Maynard. 

She felt the hard, quick throbbing of the veins in 
his forehead ; she heard the heavy sighs which told 
of a sorrow-laden heart. Silently she tried to com- 
fort him ; patiently she waited for him to speak. 

After a long time he looked up at her. He took 
her hand and pressed it to his lips. 

“ I — I cannot tell you, Mary,” he said, brokenly. 
“ Read this.” 

He handed her Satia’s letter. She crossed to the 
other side of the room, where he could not see her 
face, and read the touching message which the far- 
away wife had written. 

In vain she tried to maintain her composure, to be 
calm for his sake. Her heart was melted within her 
at the sight of his suffering and at the thought of 
that which the proud, sensitive girl must have 
endured before she could have taken such a step. 


Grievous Tidmgs, 


57 


With her arms about him now, and her tears 
mingled with his, she showed him her sympathy, 
she endeavored to console him, to help him bear 
this exceeding bitter grief. 

Reaction soon set in from the strain of the past 
thirty-six hours, and he became very ill. For days 
she thought and almost hoped that his spirit would 
slip away, and be freed from the burden which 
awaited its return to health and strength. But this 
was not to be. Slowly he came up from the valley 
of the shadow of death, back to the world which 
was to know a new Morris Julian. 

Many times as she sat by his bedside during the 
long days of his convalescence, Mary thought of 
her forebodings when he told her of his purpose to 
make Satia his wife. How happy and light-hearted 
a girl she was then ! How she must have developed 
and matured before she could have written 
that letter ! What strength of character she showed, 
in spite of the mistake she had made in supposing 
herself free from her marriage vow “ for better and 
for worse.’’ An ordinary woman would have 
accepted her life as a matter of course, have made 
her husband miserable with her whims and dis- 
regard of his wishes, and drowned her discontent in 
the whirl of gay, luxurious living. Satia was too 
true to do this. When such an existence as she led 


58 


Morris Juliaiis Wife, 


became intolerable, with child-like candor she told 
him the simple truth, and slipped away from what 
she thought it hopeless to expect to change. Her 
strong young spirit had rebelled from the bondage 
in which it found itself, a bondage as intangible, as 
impossible to define or to elude, as to grasp in one’s 
hand the air one breathes; but just as real. She 
was conscious of the high integrity of her purpose ; 
but how ignorant of the cost of liberty purchased 
on such terms. The world is seldom kind to 
women who have voluntarily left the shelter of 
their husband’s homes, and Mary felt a great pity 
for the girl who had always been so dear to her. 

She thought, too, of other lives whose shattered 
hopes and marred happiness lay at her brother’s 
door. She recalled how, in the times long past, she 
had often rebuked him and pleaded with him, indig- 
nant and angry that he could be so cruel and so 
false. But now, as she looked at the pale face, at 
the new lines about the brow and mouth, into the 
sad eyes, she felt only love and pity, divine pity, 
which forgave and forgot, and longed to bring 
back the sunshine to the darkened life. 

And, besides this, there was something else which 
called forth toward him all her tenderness. One 
day she took up the morning paper and saw an 
account of the burning at sea of a large steamer, the 


59 


Grievous Tidiiigs. 


Rochester, The circumstances were more than 
usually thrilling, and she read the long columns, 
feeling thankful that no one dear to her was on the 
ship. 

Suddenly she thought of Satia. She looked 
through the passenger-list, and was horrified to 
read the names : 

“ Mrs. Morris Julian.” 

“ Miss Hester Maynard.’ 

Only one passenger. Doctor Jarvis, and three of 
the crew had been saved. All the others were lost. 
Several boats filled with women and children had 
been lowered, but they were soon swamped in the 
high seas which were running. 

This, then, was the end of the bright young life 
which had given such promise, and of the elder one, 
devoted and unselfish. How should she tell him ? 
She knew with what tenacity the human heart clings 
to Pandora’s precious gift. The past had been dis- 
astrous, the present was clouded , but who could 
foresee what the future might not bring forth? 
How could she take this hope from him? No way 
seemed to her to be loving and gentle enough for 
the breaking of such tidings. Satia was much 
beloved by her, aside from being her brother’s wife, 


6o 


Morris Julian’s Wife. 


and she found it difficult to conceal her personal 
grief from him as he grew stronger. 

One afternoon they were sitting on the porch. 
Indian summer came late that year, and the day 
was as warm and golden as though the calendar 
marked June instead of late November. Morris, 
well wrapped up, sat, or, rather, reclined, in a low 
steamer-chair, enjoying the balmy air and a fine 
view. Maynard, with Kelsie near at hand, was 
playing at a little distance. Mary was by her 
brother’s side. 

'‘Do you not think, Mary,” he asked, “ that I 
shall soon be strong enough for a journey — a sea 
voyage ?” 

She looked up, surprised. 

“ What did you suppose?” he went on, smiling a 
little. “ That I should sit still and let that dear girl 
find out how cruel the world can be to one who has 
taken the step to which she has been driven ? She is 
my wife, in spite of everything, thank God, and she 
shall have my protection wherever she may choose 
to go. 

“It have thought much during these days and 
weeks, Mary. I have seen myself as you have seen 
me all these years. 1 am rightfully punished for 
my pride, my presumption, which dared to confine 
within the walls ot my own will a personality so 


A Norzvegian Faznily. 


6i 


much purer and nobler than mine. 1 see how 
wrong I was. 1 am going to tell her so ; to woo 
again, to try to win the love of my precious Satia. 
There is but the shadow of a hope that I shall suc- 
ceed, for she is as far above me as though she were 
already an angel in heaven. But I am living on that 
hope, Mary. I feel that it may yet be ours to make 
our boy a better man than the father whose place he 
shall one.day fill.” 

Mary did not answer. Suddenly she left him. 
He heard her sobbing as she went away. Presently 
he went in to find her ; she did not answer his call. 
When he entered his room, not long after, he found 
upon his table the newspapers containing various 
accounts of the disaster. 


CHAPTER VI. 

A NORWEGIAN FAMILY. 

Long before the earliest sunbeams had shone upon 
the spires and chimneys of the good old Norwegian 
town of Bergen, one frosty morning of this same 
November, the household of Lars Nissen was stirr- 
ing. 

In a little chamber beneath the roof, his eldest 


62 


Morris Julian's Wife, 


daughter, Christine, was deftly plaiting long strands 
of her yellow hair, and at the same time chatting 
merrily with her cousin Erika. 

It was an eventful daybreak for the two girls ; by 
noon, at the farthest, they expected to sail away 
over the blue sea for the first time in their lives. 

“Is the wind fair for us, do you think?” asked 
Erika, glancing anxiously out of the window, as she 
laced her tight-fitting bodice. 

She was a mountain-bred maiden, who had come 
down from her home only the day before. 

“ Look ! Tell me which way the smoke from that 
bunch of red chimneys is going. Old Henrik is sure 
to have his fire alight by this time.” 

Erika threw open the window and thrust her head 
far out. 

“ It goes over toward the cathedral,” she 
announced, after a iong survey. 

Christine laughed. 

“ That is good ; it means smooth seas for us. But 
Erika, dear,” she said, with a roguish look in her 
bright blue eyes, “ why didn’t you say the wind was 
going toward Romsdal or the North Pole or some 
other little thing like that ?’’ 

Erika’s rosy cheeks grew redder yet. 

“ Why— it was going over towards the cathedral,” 
she said, slowly. 


A Norwegian Family. 


63 


“ And towards the apple-tree yonder, too, goosie.” 
Then Christine went over and put both arms around 
her cousin, kissing her heart'ily. “ Don’t mind my 
teasing, Rika, dear. 1 never can tell half how much 
I love you, nor how much I thank Uncle Jan for let- 
ting you go with me. Shall we not have the best 
time two girls ever had ?” 

Erika returned the embrace affectionately. She 
was half a head shorter and a 3 ^ear younger than tall, 
straight Christine, but both had the same long, fair 
hair, clear skins and deep blue eyes. 

“ I am glad, too, Tina. It seems wonderful to me 
to be even here in Bergen. What will it be to go 
across the water to the beautiful lands we have 
heard so much about ?” 

“ 1 am sure,” began Christine ; but she was inter- 
rupted by the entrance of a little girl whose frock 
was not buttoned, and who looked scarcely awake. 

“ Please, sister, help me dress. Aunt Katrin said 
I could get up when I heard you.” 

“ In one moment, Tula,” said Christine, good- 
naturedly. 

Tula sat down on a low stool and watched the 
girls as they wound their long plaits snugly about 
their heads, fastened their warm, blue jackets and 
put on their stout shoes. Christine, unobserved, 
tied about her neck a large silver locket, which she 


64 


Morris J Jtliaiis Wife, 


hid in her bosom of her dress. It contained the 
portrait of Ole Jansen, to whom she was to be 
married in the spring.# 

They weie ready at last ; then the child’s dress 
was buttoned, her shining hair was plaited, and after 
a long farewell look around the little room where 
she had slept almost every night of her twenty 
years, the older sister led the way down a narrow 
stairway, closely followed by Erika and Tula. 

As they entered the large living-room below, they 
were greeted first by an odor of frying fish and boil- 
ing coffee, next by the cheery words of Aunt Katrin, 
a comely, jolly-looking woman, who was bustling 
busily around. 

“ Good morning, girls 1” she cried. “And there 
is little Tula, too, up before the sun. Sit right down 
there and warm yourselves before you eat. There’s 
a sharp frost this morning, your father says. He’ll 
be up presently from the wharf.” 

Christine went to the other side of the room, and 
began dressing a little girl smaller than Tula; but 
Erika sat down on the long wooden bench, and 
looked about with much interest at the unwonted 
scene. There were so many things here unlike 
those of her country home. The shelves on which 
were ranged dishes and candlesticks, for instance, 
were quite different from those she was used to see ; 


A Norzvegian Family. 


65 


also tlie little cabinet in one corner, filled with 
strange and beautiful curiosities brought by her 
sailor-uncle from all parts of the world. .Her eyes 
were recalled from surveying these various objects 
by the opening of the outer door. A slender girl, 
about sixteen, with a bright scarlet shawl over her 
head, came in. She had in her hand a great pitcher 
of foaming milk, which she put on the table before 
coming to speak to Erika. This was Elsa, next 
younger than Christine. She had barely seated 
herself on the bench, when there were heard out- 
side a stamping of feet and the sound of voices. 
The door again opened and five tall men entered. 

First was Lars Nissen himself, the head of the 
household, and master of the good bark Sea Gull. 
Christine always thought that there was not a man 
who stood up in church on Sundays who was half 
so straight, so strong or so handsome as her father. 
His kindly face was weather-beaten, and his hair 
was growing white ; but his smile was pleasant, and 
his blue eyes, which could be stern enough at times, 
were nearly always full of fun. 

Close behind him came his oldest son, Eric, the 
first-mate of the Sea 6”?///, a stalwart young fellow, 
strong of limb and slow of speech, who thought his 
cousin Erika the dearest girl in all the land. He 
glanced over at her, smiling shyly, as he made room 


66 


Morris Julians Wife, 


for his twin brothers, Lars and Jan, whose close- 
cropped heads were nearly on a level with his own. 
They were big, clumsy lads, whose hands and feet 
seemed to be always in the way, but whom little 
Tula knew to be kind and gentle. 

Last, but, to Christine’s thinking, not the least of 
the incomers, was Ole Jansen, just home from his 
first fishing voyage in his own vessel. He was a 
young captain, but had proved himself to be a good 
master of the staunch little craft left to him by an 
uncle the year before. He had been especially 
invited by genial Captain Lars to come and eat 
breakfast with them all on the morning of Chris- 
tine’s departure. He looked around the room, as 
he stood, a trifle awkwardly, just within the door; 
but there was nothing awkward in the way in 
which he went toward Christine and clasped her 
hand in both of his, speaking to her in a low tone. 

Presently the last steaming dish was read}^ and in 
its place. At a signal from Aunt Katrin, whose 
heated face looked out from her close, white cap 
redder than ever, they all took their seats around 
the long table. The father sat at the head ; on his 
left hand the four young men and ten-year-old 
Henrik, who had slipped in at the last minute. On 
his right, Christine, Erika, Elsa, Tula and little 


A Norwegiafi Family, 


67 


Truda. Baby Ola was asleep in a great wooden 
cradle over in the corner. 

They all bowed their heads while their father 
asked a blessing upon the meal before them. He 
added to the usual words a few of petition that they 
might each be safely kept during the approaching 
separation. 

Elsa's eyes filled with tears. She was a tender, 
sensitive girl, not strong and self-reliant like 
Christine, and since the death of the gentle mother 
two years before, she had leaned heavily upon her 
sister. The thought of a long winter without her 
was almost more than she could bear. To be sure. 
Aunt Katrin was there to take care of them, and 
Aunt Katrin was their father’s own dear sister and 
as kind and nice as she could be ; but she was not 
Christine. Elsa knew that it was true, as her father 
had explained to them, that Christine had worked 
very hard to fill their mother’s place, and that it was 
right that she should have this change and rest 
before going to her own home in the spring. She 
had tried to be brave about it; but her father’s 
words made it hard to keep the tears from falling. 

It was not quite so easy this morning for any of 
them to laugh and talk. Anyone unless it was 
Eric. He could not help being happy, for was not 
Erika, the dear cousin from the far hill country. 


68 


Morris Jtdians Wife, 


going’ out with him in the Sea Gullf Were there 
not long days in store for him when they could be 
no further apart than the length of the trim bark? 
He smiled across at her, thinking that she grew 
sweeter and prettier with every sunrise. 

Breakfast over, Lars took affectionate leave of 
the younger children and of his sister. 

“ Be ready to come down, girls, by nine o’clock. 
We must be off by ten. The lads will come to fetch 
you.” 

The small blue chests which contained the simple 
wardrobes of the girls had been taken on board the 
day before. Aunt Katrin said that they should not 
help about the household tasks this morning, so 
nothing remained but the farewells. 

The girls ran about to the neighbors’ houses bid- 
ding good-bye to the elder ones who were not coming 
down to see them off. Then they came home, and 
Christine gathered the little ones around her. This 
was the hardest part of her going away, harder even 
than leaving Ole. She was used to not seeing him for 
months at a time, but these dear children had been 
her very life ever since her mother had left them. 
How they clung to her : Baby Ola, little Truda, 
bright Tula and even Elsa, tall, slender Elsa, already 
above her shoulder. She sat with Ola on her lap, 
one arm about Tula, one hand clasped by both 


A Norzvegian Family, 


69 


Truda’s fat fists and Elsa leaning against her 
knees. 

“ 1 declare,” cried Erika, laughing, “you look just 
like the old woman in her shoe.” 

“ Oh Tina !” exclaimed Tula. “ That makes me 
remember — you haven’t told us a story to think of.” 

They all laughed then. No matter where Tula 
was going or what was about to happen, she always 
wanted “a story to think of.” 

So Christine told one, more beautiful than any 
she had ever told them. When the tale was ended 
she very gently put the bab}^ who was asleep, in its 
big cradle, and kissed each loved face manj^ times. 

Then it was time to go. The thick outer jackets 
were closely buttoned, Avarm caps were pulled snugly 
down over the golden braids ; long scarfs were 
wrapped about their throats. This was scarcely 
done when Eric and Ole came for them. They, too, 
were warmly dressed in their thick jackets buttoned 
all the way down. Their caps were pulled over 
their ears, and they wore big boots. 

A fresh wind was blowing, and they found the 
Sea Gull dancing about on the sparkling waves as 
though impatient to be off ! 

Tula, who had begged to be allowed to go down 
with them, clung fast to Aunt Katrin’s hand as she 
crossed the plank. She wondered how Christine 


70 


Morris Julians Wife, 


could be willing to go away from home in a vessel. 
She felt quite sure that she never should. 

A goodly company of the young friends were 
already on board. Merry adieux were exchanged. 
Christine and Ole found a moment for a more quiet 
good-bye ; but the last of all to leave her sister’s side 
was Elsa. 

Presently Captain Lars came to the vessel’s side 
and lifted his cap. Then they were off. The girls 
stood near him, waving their handkerchiefs and look- 
ing eagerly into the familiar faces, which seemed 
slowly moving backward. The buildings, the 
wharves, the vessels, also, receded, and soon the Sea 
Gull was far out in the harbor. 

Erika smiled up at Eric, who stood beside her, 
but Christine looked back towards the dear home 
from which she was hastening. 


CHAPTER VII. 

RESCUED. 

Life*on board ship was a great novelty to the two 
girls. To Christine, familiar as she had always been 
with the ways of seafaring people, it seemed strange 
to stow her possessions away in the snug but capa- 


Rescued. 


71 


cious lockers which appeared to be hidden in every 
corner of their tiny cabin ; to see how cleverly Eric 
could produce unexpected treasures from the most 
extraordinary places of concealment ; to notice the 
deft and handy fashion in which their meals were 
prepared down in the cook’s domains ; to watch the 
sailors at their various duties ; to smell the strong, 
salt sea-air so delightful and invigorating; to feel 
the cool, fresh breezes blow over her; to count the 
huge waves which rolled past in a never-ending pro- 
cession, sometimes white-capped and merry, some- 
times dark and cold, always coming from the ocean 
beyond, so vast and so mysterious ; to stand by her 
father’s side and admire and wonder at the skill with 
which he so easily managed his ship. She thought 
then of the words of the Bible : “ Behold also the 
ships, wnich though they be so gr^at, and are driven 
of fierce winds, yet are they turned about with a 
very small helm, withersoever the governor listeth.” 

If all these things were new and interesting to 
Christine, they seemed little short of magic to Erika, 
who found something new to delight in each day. 

The weather was fine, and they sped swiftly over 
the billowy highway. Day after day went by. 
Other ships were passed, sometimes within hailing 
distance, oftener far off on the horizon. 

One clear night, Christine and Eric sat watching 


72 


Morris Juliafis Wife, 


the foamy track which the bark left behind it in the 
moonlight. They had been talking of their home 
and of the little ones so constantly in Christine’s 
thoughts. She looked off suddenly to the right. A 
ruddy glow was spreading over the sky, coming up- 
apparently from the water’s edge. Great tongues 
of light streaked up against the dark heavens. 

“ See, Eric !” she cried, pointing toward the 
strange sight, “what can it be?” 

Eric sprang up in excitement. 

“That can mean but one thing, Tina!” he said 
quickly, “ some ship on fire, and may heaven help 
her 1” 

“ It must be one of the big steamers, to make such 
a light as that,” said Captain Lars, who had come to 
look. 

“How far away are we, father?” asked Chris- 
tine. 

“ I can hardly tell, but 1 think we may reach her 
by daylight.” 

“ Is she on our course ?” 

“ Almost directly in our path, daughter. I wish 
that we were nearer. I hope that some other ship 
may be near to save the poor, terror-stricken crea- 
tures.” 

He spoke more gravely than his wont, and Erika, 
who had come up on deck, hearing the unusual 


Rescued, 


73 


sound of voices at that hour, shivered at the picture 
his words brought before her. 

“Come, Tina, let us go down,” she whispered. 
“ We can do no good watching, and 1 am cold.” 

Christine put her arm around the trembling fig- 
ure, and they went below. Erika was soon asleep, 
but the elder girl did not close her eyes. She could 
not forget the horror and dreadful death this lovely 
night was bringing to people who had, without 
doubt, set out on their ocean journey as happily as 
she had done. She was safe; but they ? She, too, 
shivered at the thought of their peril. This was 
another side of “ life on the ocean wave,” and it 
made her heart ache. 

After a long time she stole from Erika’s side, 
dressed herself warmly, wrapped a heavy shawl 
about her, and went on deck. 

No one was there but her father and a couple of 
the men. They did not see her. The moon had 
gone down, and it was quite dark except in the 
quarter to which a freshly risen wind was hurrying 
them. There it was lighter than when she last 
looked in that direction. Slender spires of flame 
shot up toward the stars, and a glow came and went 
like a great wave of brightness. 

There was a fascination in the scene. Christine 
gazed at it for a long time. By and by she felt a 


74 


Morris Julians Wife, 


hand on her shoulder. Her father had seen the tall, 
straight figure standing so erect and motionless. 

“You had better go below, Christine,” he said, 
kindly. “ It is only three o’clock. By daybreak we 
shall be there, and you may need all your strength, 
if by good fortune any have been spared till then. 
I will wake you myself. Go down now, and try to 
sleep.” 

Christine laid her face against his shoulder. 

“ Oh, father,” she said, “ it is so hard !” 

“Yes, my child. But remember what the 
Psalmist says of those who ‘go down to the sea in 
ships:’ ‘Then they cry unto the Lord in their 
trouble, and He bringeth them out of their dis- 
tresses.’ ” 

They stood for a little while without speaking 
again. Then he walked with her to the stairway. 

She took off her outer clothing and crept in 
beside Erika, whose gentle, regular breathing 
showed her to be slumbering sweetly. The beauti- 
ful words her father had spoken had calmed her 
troubled spirit, and soon she, too, was sleeping. 

It seemed to her that she had scarcely closed her 
eyes when she heard her father calling : 

“ Come now, Tina. Wrap up well, for the morn- 
ing is cold.” 

She sprang to her feet instantly. When she was 


Rescued, 


75 


again on deck, she saw floating on the water bits of 
wreckage, and, apparently quite near, larger masses 
of blackened and smoking timbers. The main body 
of the ship was nowhere to be seen. Far away a 
steamer could be seen going from them. 

“ That steamer has evidently picked up the sur- 
vivors. Probably she was here before the ship 
sank. But she may have overlooked some one. 1 
am going in among this stuff, and we must all keep 
a sharp lookout.” 

Christine leaned over the vessel’s side, and peered 
down at the dark waters. In half an hour they 
were in the midst of the debris^ but nothing could 
be seen at all resembling anything of the human 
kind. 

They passed slowly along. The sun had risen 
now, and shone as brightly across the ocean as 
though a gallant ship and many bodies were not 
lying beneath the Sea Gull's track. It seemed to 
Christine almost cruel in its splendor. She felt as 
though she hated the dancing waves, white-tipped 
now and lovely in the morning light, which bore 
upon their crests such pitiful reminders of the 
night’s calamity. 

Suddenly she thought she heard a faint cry. She 
listened intently. Surely, there it came again, a far- 
away Halloo !” weak and strange. She was too 


76 


Morris J iilians Wife, 


excited to speak. She ran to her father, to Eric, 
and pointed wildly in the direction from which the 
sound had come. They heard it again, and they 
saw a white object waving in the air. So far away 
that it looked like a mere speck, they could also see 
something. Was it a man? a boat? They could 
not tell. They did not stop to see. They called 
and shouted and waved back again. The next hour 
on the Sea Gull was a busy one. Christine had 
seized her father’s glass, and as they came nearer 
she saw that they were approaching a boat in which 
there were several people. 

“ Some of them are women. Come, Erika, let us 
go down and get things re*ady.” 

Presently she heard a call : 

“ Tina !” 

She ran up, to find that the boat was alongside, 
and that the women had already been brought on 
board. There were four of them— Satia, Miss Hes- 
ter and two young girls. They were all thoroughly 
chilled by their long exposure, faint and worn out. 
They were at once taken below, and made as com- 
fortable as possible in Christine’s little cabin and 
Captain Lars’ quarters. The five sailors were being 
attended to by Eric and the crew. 

AVhen at length their guests were sleeping, Chris- 
tine and Erika came out to rest in their own special 


Rescued, 


11 


nook on deck. They wei'e tired and excited. 
Never before in their simple lives had they spent 
such a morning. Presently Eric joined them. He, 
too, seemed weary. He threw himself down on a 
pile of ropes. 

“ These poor fellows are pretty badly used up,” 
he said. “ Think of being out in that boat eight 
hours ! They were the last to leave the ship, and 
drifted so far away that they were neither seen nor 
heard by the steamer. That is about all they have 
been able to tell me yet. Can’t you find a place 
somewhere to sleep, too ?” he asked, noticing their 
palefaces. “Come.” 

But they shook their heads. 

“ No, Eric,” Christine said. “ It is only because 
of the strangeness and horror of it all. We shall 
feel better out here in the air. We never realized 
before how dreadful such an experience could 
be.” 

By the next morning everyone felt brighter. 
The Sea Gull\\2id been adapted as best it might to 
the needs of its increased family. No one minded 
being crowded. 

Satia was still unable to leave her berth, but Miss 
Hester came on deck frequently, and seemed none 
the worse for her perilous adventure. The young 
girls were well, too, and, although at first a bit shy, 


78 


Morris Julians Wife, 


they soon responded to the kindly advances of their 
kind-hearted hostesses. 

They were French girls, twins, and about Elsa’s 
age, and in personal appearance presented the 
greatest possible contrast to .Christine and Erika. 
Slight and willowy in figure, with smooth brown 
skin and the blackest of hair and eyes, they flitted 
about over the Sea Gull, as though they were verit- 
able birds themselves. 

At first conversation between the four flagged 
somewhat, for Erika knew only a very few English 
words, learned mostly from Eric and Christine 
since she left Bergen ; Christine understood English 
quite well but did not speak fluently, while the 
other girls, Marie and Madeleine Fontenelle by name, 
poured forth a swift jumble of excellent French 
and halting English. They were all quick-witted, 
however, and it was not long before they could be 
heard chattering away in an international idiom, 
strange and confusing to the listener, but appar- 
ently clear to themselves. 

Captain Lars and Eric had picked up considerable 
knowledge of many languages in the course of their 
travels over the world, and thev good-naturedly 
came to the rescue whenever the girls found them- 
selves hopelessly adrift on a sea of words. 

Eric, alone, looked rather askance at the red- 


Rescued. 


79 


lipped, slim-waisted strangers who absorbed so 
much of Erika’s attention. There were now no 
more cozy chats nor long walks up and down the 
deck during his leisure hours, nor happy moments 
standing side by side looking over at the gleaming 
waters. He missed sorely the winsome companion 
of whom he was so fond, and one morning, when he 
chanced to find her alone, his full heart overflowed 
in what sounded to her very like reproaches. 

She regarded him with grave surprise. 

“ I did not think that you could ever be so hard- 
hearted,” she said at last. 

Hard-hearted — and to you !” exclaimed he, 
amazed and indignant. 

“ Oh, no ; not to me, but to these poor girls. 
How do you think it would seem to be nearly 
burned to death and then almost drowned and then 
brought to a vessel full of strange people who 
wouldn’t even speak to you ?” 

“ But, Erika, they were not — ” 

“ What do you call that but being heart-hearted, 
I should like to know, just like a stone?” 

Eric did not try again to defend himself. He 
stood there feeling like a brute under the look of 
serious disapproval which she bent upon him, and 
which made him wretched. 

“ I like them, too, besides. Marie is a dear, and 


8o 


Morris Julians Wife. 


you would think so yourself, if you would not 
always go off like a bear.'’ 

He moved his feet uneasily and glanced away 
across the water, trying not to see that Marie and 
Madeleine had come up and were not far off. They, 
however, could make nothing of the queer-sounding 
syllables Erika was speaking so quickly. 

“They have been in New — New — Oh, I forget. 
New — something, in America, to see their grand- 
mother, and were on their way home to France. 
When we get to Fernandina they are going back to 
her for more money and clothes, and then will start 
again. Are they not brave to go about so alone ? 
Why, I was afraid just to come to Bergen, and old 
Jan Tnomassen was in the cars, too, from our 
village.” 

Eric had a very decided opinion of young ladies 
who go wandering about the world with no one to 
look after them ; but he dared not express it at this 
time. He was not as heavy-hearted, either, as he 
had been half an hour before. Erika had forgotten 
to be displeased with him. She was chattering 
away and pulling at one of the big buttons on his 
jacket in the dear old fashion. The wind was fair, 
and they could not be forever getting to Fer- 
nandina. He began to be ashamed of himself, and 
to think that, after all, he had been rather unkind. 


On the “ Sea GulL 


8i 


He strolled, after awhile, over to the girls and 
joined in the conversation. 

And when he presently took his father’s place, 
and Erika found a chance to whisper in his ear : 
“ 1 like you for that, Eric. I wanted them to know 
how nice you are,” he felt as though the Sea Gull 
had spread its wings and was flying through the 
air. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

ON THE “ SEA GULL.” 

To Satia these days were passing wearily. She 
was weakened and depressed by the shock she had 
sustained. The confinement within so tiny a place, 
the absence of her personal belongings and of the 
luxurious surroundings to which she was accus- 
tomed, and the minor inconveniences of the place 
wore upon her as they would not have done under 
happier circumstances. 

She really felt too ill to rise from her berth, or to 
see anyone but Aunt Hester, who, good soul, would 
have remained constantly in the little cabin with 
her. But Satia remonstrated. 

“ No, auntie dear, I cannot let you. I’m a 


82 


Morris Juliajis Wife, 


regular good-for-nothing, but that must not keep 
you from enjoying all you can. I didn’t dream that 
I was bringing you to such hardships.” 

She looked up lovingly into the kind face which 
bent above her. 

“ Hush, I will not hear another word. You 
know we promised each other not to speak of that 
night of horror. Now, you must promise not to 
think me unhappy or uncomfortable, for I am 
neither. I never felt better in my life. This little 
ship is as neat as a pin, from one end to the other, 
and the people are kindness itself. I wish you 
would only pluck up courage and come out on 
deck. You would feel like another girl after a few 
breaths of this delicious air.” 

Satia tried to smile. 

Some day, auntie,” she said, languidly. 

One morning, soon after. Miss Hester held a long 
consultation with Captain Lars. At first he shook 
his head ; but finally he nodded and smiled, and 
Miss Hester immediately disappeared Then 
Christine brought out several pillows and shawls 
and made a comfortable nest in a sheltered place. 

“ See !” cried Marie, “ I believe madame is com- 
ing.” 

“Ah, ouir exclaimed Madeleine, “I am'glad. 
She is lovely ; belle charmante. She was so kind to 


Oil the ''Sea GulL 


83 


us on de Rockestare, It was she who saw that we 
were alone, and who made us come in de boat with 
her. We shall always pray to de Sainte Vierge for 
her.” 

"Moiy aussiy je croisy'' began Marie, quickly; but 
just at that moment Captain Lars was seen emerg- 
ing above the stairway with a shapeless bundle in 
his arms, which he deposited carefully on the cush- 
ions. Miss Hester and Christine followed closely. 
Both looked rather anxious, but they were speedily 
reassured. 

Satia threw the shawl in which she was wrapped 
back from her face. She did not speak, but shook a 
finger at the conspirators. Then she drank deeply 
of the soft, balmy air, and from that moment con- 
tinued to grow stronger and better. All day long, 
every day, she lay there, seldom speaking, scarcely 
thinking, simply letting the hours slip by. 

Marie and Madeleine almost worshipped the lovely, 
sweet-voiced lady to whom they believed they owed 
their lives. With all the ardor of their warm 
Southern natures, they lavished a wealth of devotion 
upon her, content if she but smiled in return. Satia 
was deeply touched by their affectionate gratitude. 
She was reminded of her own free and happy girl- 
hood. 

Christine seemed to her like a youthful Freya, 


84 


Morris Julians Wife, 


calm and serene, a pillar of strength in time of need, 
but too cold and distant to love. Erika she scarcely 
noticed ; but these other two, with their dainty 
ways, their prettily turned phrases of endearment, 
their adoring eyes — she loved to have them near 
her. She was sorry that the time for separation 
was so close at hand. 

Every day now the air grew warmer ; the sun- 
shine was more golden ; the sky took on a blue of 
more exquisite tint. Far away to the right they 
could see the green shores of Georgia, and one 
morning the rays of the rising sun were reflected 
from the windows of Amelia Lighthouse. A few 
hours more would bring them into port, if wind 
and tide served well. By the time breakfast was 
eaten, the grim, solid walls of Fort Clinch, keeping 
guard over the entrance to Fernandina harbor, were 
in sight. As they crossed the bar, Cumberland 
Island lay not a mile to the right, and they could 
see St. Mary’s River, broad and dark, in its wind- 
ing, westward way between Florida and Georgia. 
Slowly they came in around the end of Amelia 
Island, past quaint, grass-grown Spanish Old Town, 
over to Tiger Island, for a brief stay at the quaran- 
tine station there, then across the quiet water to find 
a landing-place at Fernandina docks. They were all 
on deck, looking with curious eyes at the sandy 


On the Sea GtdL 


85 


streets, the low-built, rambling’ houses; the great, 
moss-draped live-oak trees ; the picturesque palmet- 
toes, standing straight and tall ; the crowd of caper- 
ing little negroes which thronged the wharves, 
black and comical. 

The pretty town looked fair and peaceful in the 
morning sunlight, and they were all impatient to 
explore it more fully. It was found, however, that 
there was barely time for Marie and Madeleine to 
catch the southern-bound train. So their farewells 
were said while the Sea Gull was being made fast to 
its moorings. 

“ Le bon Dieu vous benisse !*' murmured Madeleine, 
clasping Captain Lars' big hand in both of her slim, 
brown ones, and pressing it to her lips. ‘‘ Le bon 
Dieu vous benisse toujour s^ Monsieur le CapitaineS 

Eric watched this procedure with a good deal of 
secret alarm, fearing lest his turn should come next. 
But he received only shy, grateful glances from the 
deep-lashed, dark eyes, and a low-spoken “ Good-bye 
and thank you, Mr. Eric,’’ while he held for an 
instant the soft, small hand. 

From the girls they parted affectionately. To 
Satia they clung with tears and kisses. At last Miss 
Hester got them away, and with Captain Lars, took 
them to the station and saw them safely off for New 
Orleans. 


86 


Morris Julian's Wife. 


Before returning to the vessel, she walked about 
the town and discovered a comfortable hotel, where 
she engaged rooms for Satia and herself. 

Eric had in the meantime gone to the New York 
steamer with the five sailors, and it really seemed 
quite lonely on board until Miss Hester came back 
in a carriage for Satia. 

“We will not say good-bye yet, ladies, if you 
please," said Captain Lars. “We shall be in port 
for several days." 

“ Oh, that is pleasant news," said Satia, with 
more animation than she had before shown. “ Come 
around, all of you, and dine with us to-morrow at 

the " She looked inquiringly at Miss Hester. 

“ What is the hotel, auntie ?" 

“ The Egmont. Anyone can direct you. It is a 
pleasant-looking place. We shall surely expect 
you," replied Miss Hester. 

“ I thank you," answered the tall captain, heartily. 
“The girls will like to see a bit of life ashore, I 
know. So the lads and I will fetch them." 

Christine and Erika stood side by side and watched 
the carriage out of sight. It seemed to them that 
they had lived years instead of days since they left 
Bergen. They felt that the hours were coming to 
them full-laden with much that was strange and 
delightful. 


On the Sea GuW 


87 


It was not more than an hour or two before Miss 
Hester returned. 

“ Where is your father, Christine,” she asked. 
“ 1 want to borrow you and Erika until to-mor- 
row.” 

Captain Lars was found and listened atten- 
tively. 

‘‘You see. Captain,” began Miss Hester, in her 
direct fashion, “ my niece and myself need to have 
our wardrobes replenished, and I find that I shall 
have to go to Jacksonville, a city twenty or thirty 
miles inland, to get what we wish, and the trains 
run so that I shall be obliged to remain all night. 
Now I have come to ask you to allow Erika to go 
with me, and Christine to stay at the hotel with my 
niece. We will take good care of them, and they 
may find it pleasant to see something of the w^ays of 
us Americans.” 

Erika’s blue eyes were sparkling as she listened, 
and even quiet Christine’s cheeks flushed a little. 

Her father looked at them before he replied : 

“You are very kind, madame. I can see no reason 
why they should not accept your invitation, if they 
wish to do so. How is it, daughter? Should you 
like a day of hotel life ? And you, Rika, do you 
not need some new ribbons?” he asked, pulling her 
long plaits. 


88 


Morris Julian's Wife, 


“ 1 should like much to go,” answered Christine. 

“ Also I,” said Erika, who, when excited, forgot 
the English phrases she had learned. 

They were soon ready and on their way up Cen- 
ter street to the Egmont. Miss Hester saw that 
Satia and Christine were quite comfortable in their 
pleasant rooms. 

^‘Good-bye, dear,” she said to the former; then: 

I dislike to leave you even for so short a time ; but 
the hours will soon pass, I am sure.” 

“ Oh, yes ; Christine and I will manage nicely. 
Don’t try to buy out the whole of Jacksonville ; and 
let nothing keep you from coming on the morning 
train.” 

Christine stood at the window and watched them 
until they turned the corner. A strange feeling 
came over her then. She could not see even the 
masts of any vessels, not a glimpse of the water, but 
only the odd-looking palmetto-trees in the small 
park opposite, the tall Spanish bayonet with its stiff, 
straight leaves, the golden globes of the dark, shin- 
ing-leaved orange-trees and the unfamiliar land- 
scape. How different it was from the narrow, 
closely-built streets, the steep-roofed houses, the 
ancient, substantial appearance of her own northern 
home! Her thoughts dwelt especially with the 


Oil the Sea Gull! 


89 


inmates of one well-appointed house. What were 
they doing in that sunny room where she had last 
seen her dear ones? What had been happening to 
them during all these days ? 

She felt a light touch on her arm, and, turning 
hastily, saw Satia, whom she had for the moment 
wholly forgotten. 

“Pardon, madame !” she cried, blushing deeply. 
“ I did not remember. I was rude. I was thinking 
of my home.” 

Satia smiled as she drew the girl to a seat beside 
her. The simple words touched her. Perhaps, 
after all, Freya had a heart. 

“ That is just what I wanted to ask you to tell me 
about — your home. It is in Norway, is it not ? 
Would you mind talking to me of it?” 

Christine needed no second bidding. She felt the 
winning charm of Satia’s gracious presence. Be- 
sides, who could help being glad to hear of Baby Ola 
and cunning Truda, and especially dear, gentle 
Elsa ? The mother-sister’s heart was opened, and 
Satia listened with genuine interest to all that was 
told of these far-away people. 

“But, my dear, what a hard life it has been for 
you. So young a girl should not be so closely con- 
fined. Could not some other arrangement have 
been made ?” 


90 


Morris JuliarJs Wife, 


Satia regretted these words as soon as they were 
spoken. They sounded critical and intrusive when 
she had no such thought. But Christine was too 
candid and straightforward to interpret them in any 
such way. She looked with her clear eyes full 
into the brown ones so near her. 

“Oh, no. Not while the children were so little. 
Who could love them so well as I ? I did not feel 
it a hardship to try to fill our mother’s place. I 
could not have been happy anywhere else.” 

The brown eyes fell. What would this steadfast 
child think if she knew that she was talking to a 
mother who, when rescued from a dreadful death, 
was putting the ocean between herself and her only 
little child ? 

But Christine did not know, and Satia banished 
the unwelcome thought. She asked many questions 
about Bergen and the country around it. 

“ The mountains are grand. Father sa^^s there are 
none like them in the whole world. And in the sum- 
mer-time it is beautiful to go to the saeters, the 
mountain dairies, which the farmers have far up 
above the villages and farms. It is peaceful and 
silent there, like another lovely world, where noth- 
ing wicked or unhappy ever comes.” 

Satia listened eagerly. W as this not the very place 
for which she was seeking ? Where she might in soli- 


On the “ Sea GullS 


91 


tude and in quiet find the peace of mind and free- 
dom of spirit for which she longed? 

“ But could I, a stranger, be permitted to visit one 
of these saeters and stay for many weeks ? How is 
it? There are, of course, no hotels near?” 

“ Oh, no, madame. They are far up on the moun- 
tain-side, often miles from any other house. Our 
uncle Jan, Erika's father, has several. It is the custom 
for the eldest daughter to take the cattle up there in 
the early spring. They get restless and uneasy from 
being shut up in the barns all through the winter. 
My cousin Jenne takes a maid to help her and two 
or three lads, and sometimes they stay up there all 
summer long. Once 1 went for three weeks. It 
was beautiful ; it seemed to me almost as if I had 
been in heaven. It was so high and the air was as 
sweet and pure as air could be. There was no sound 
except the wind and the cattle ; nothing to see but 
the great, grand mountains, the trees, the grass, the 
clouds.” 

It must be lovely, indeed, Christine. I should 
like to go some time,” said Satia. 

Directly after breakfast the next morning, they 
took a carriage and drove about the town, out to the 
unsurpassed Amelia Beach, which is twenty miles 
long and as level and hard as a floor, and back to 
the station by the time the train from Jacksonville 


92 


Morris JuliarCs Wife. 


was due. Then to the hotel for dinner. Captain 
Lars and Eric were already there, and joined with 
them in admiration of the pretty purchases. 

As Satia and Miss Hester sat together when their 
guests had departed, the former said : 

“ Auntie, would you mind going to Norway with 
Captain Nissen, if he will take us?” 

Miss Hester had become somewhat accustomed 
to surprising questions from Satia, during the past 
few months, but she could scarcely conceal her 
astonishment now. Fortunately, Satia was gazing 
out of the window, with a far-away expression on 
her face, as though she might be already surveying 
the distant land of which she had spoken. 

“ You know, dear child,” said Miss Hester, “ that 
1 am willing to go anywhere with you.” 

Satia looked at her and smiled a little. 

“ But when you said that at Elm Ridge, you did 
not think of Florida or Norway, 1 am sure.” 

Miss Hester smiled, too. 

“ No, I cannot say that I did. But Florida is pleas- 
ant enough. I dare say that Norway will be.” 

Satia rose and came around behind her auntie. 
She put one hand on either side of her face, and 
gently turned it towards her own. Stooping, she 
pressed her lips to cheeks and forehead. 

“What should I do without you, you dear, sweet. 


On the “ Sea Gull, 


93 


unselfish old auntie ? I know just how much you 
are giving up in coming away with me. It is one 
of those things we cannot speak of, but which we 
never forget.” 

She brought a low stool, and sat on it, laying her 
head in Miss Hester’s lap. 

“ I’m all wrong, auntie. I know it ; and must 
fight it out somehow. You know we were going to 
hunt a quiet spot, away out of the world. Let us 
go up to some of the wide, still places Christine tells 
me can be found in her country. She is true and 
strong. It may be that I, too, shall become so, liv- 
ing there.” 

Miss Hester passed her hand over the soft, dark 
hair. Her warm, sympathetic nature felt deeply for 
the unsatisfied, questioning, restless spirit of this girl. 
She knew even better than Satia herself how full of 
unhappiness and self reproach the coming days were 
to be. She yearned tenderl}^ over the darling of her 
childless life ; but she possessed the rare, priceless 
gift of silence in the presence of the heart’s most 
profound experiences. It was this quality of soul 
that had made it possible for Satia to bear her com- 
panionship in her self-imposed exile. It was com- 
fort in expressible to feel that she would be loved and 
borne with without need of explanation or excuse. 

“ But have you thought,” said Miss Hester, in 


94 


Morris Julians Wife. 


reply, “ what a long, tedious voyage it will be in the 
Sea Gull? Would it not be better to go by rail to 
New York and take a steamer? Lightning, you 
know, seldom strikes twice in the same place ; so we 
could not reasonably expect another disaster.’* 

“ I’d rather go with Captain Nissen, auntie. I like 
these simple-hearted, sincere people, and their ship 
is so clean and nice, if it is little.” 

“ Well, dear. I’m willing enough. I like them too; 
and there will be more room going back.” 

“ Then will you ask him in the morning?” 

“ Yes ; but if he refuses me. I’ll send him up to 
you,” replied Miss Hester, laughing. “ I never 
knew anyone who could equal you for coaxing.” 

Captain Lars was naturally much surprised at such 
a request from the ladies. 

“ But we are not going direct to Norway,” he 
said. “In a few days we leave here for the West 
Indies, and it is more than likely that we shall visit 
the Brazilian shores before going home.” 

“ That does not matter at all, captain. My niece 
desires a long sea-voyage.” 

“ I have no objections, madame, to taking you, so 
far as I am concerned, but I must consult my girls. 
You know,” he added, with a humorous twinkle in 
his eyes, “ they are really the ‘ captains ’ this trip.” 

They were delighted, and the matter was soon 


On the ''Sea Gull. 


95 


settled. Plans were at once made for the comfort 
of their ‘‘ passengers,” in which Miss Hester joined. 
All three were busily occupied in refitting the little 
cabins and laying in stores for the long journey. 

One beautiful fair morning they sailed away out 
over the bar and into the golden sheen of 
Southern waters. Steadily they kept their course, 
with brief sojourns here and there, until one day 
they turned about and set their faces homeward. 

Plunging over rough seas, riding smoothly on 
rolling waves, driven and tossed by stormy winds, 
hurried along by favoring breezes, they saw, at last, 
far, far away in the distance, a tiny black speck 
which Captain Lars assured them was Bergen. 

Christine was too excited to stand still. She 
walked up and down the deck, straining her eyes as 
she looked through the glass and tried to make out 
at least one familiar object. 

“When shall we get in, father? Do you think 
they will be expecting us? How much nearer are 
we?” she asked over and over again. Now that 
they were so near, it seemed to her that they were 
farther away than ever, and the hours appeared 
endless until they should be there. 

But they passed somehow, and the little group of 
friends, for they now felt themselves to be truly 


96 


Morris Julimi's Wife. 


such, stood together upon the Sea Gulls deck and 
saw the quaint Norwegian town l)dng full and fair 
before them in the afternoon sunlight. 


* CHAPTER IX. 

THE BERGEN HOME. 

The twilight shadows were fast deepening as they 
approached Nissen’s Wharf, which looked deserted. 
But Christine’s searching eyes discovered a slight 
figure standing at the very edge of the huge tim- 
bers. She could not see the well-known scarlet 
shawl in which it was wrapped, nor the eagerness 
with which every nerve was being strained to 
pierce the gathering dusk, but her heart told her 
who the watcher was. 

“ Elsa !” she cried, waving her handkerchief and 
bending over the side of the bark. 

Instantly an answering signal fluttered in the 
breeze, and a glad cry was heard. They saw her 
speed away to tell the good news, but she seemed 
scarcely to have gone before she was back again. 
Lights gleamed here and there; they moved nearer; 
dark figures gathered; hearty greetings were hal- 
loed across the gradually lessening distance; the 


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The Bergen Home. 


97 


water plashed gently against the pier; amid the 
creaking of ropes and the hoarse shouting of sailors, 
the Sea Gull came slowly in and was made fast to 
its familiar moorings. 

Elsa was the first on board. She was well known 
and loved by every one of the brawny-handed men, 
who made way while she flew lightly across the 
plank. She was soon clasped in the dear arms for 
which she had so yearned. She breathed a long 
sigh of content as her head nestled against her sis- 
ter’s shoulder. Captain Lars laid his hand affec- 
tionately upon the golden head, from which the 
scarlet shawl had fallen. 

“ It is late for little ones like you to be down 
here,” he said. 

Elsa looked up at him without stirring. 

“ But, father, I could not wait quietly at the 
house. All day long I could see out of the window, 
but when it grew dark I had to come down here. 
All the men were kind to me. I was not afraid. I 
could not bear for anyone else to see you first, you 
know.” 

She was twisting her little fingers about his big 
ones as she spoke. Captain Lars looked down at 
the coaxing eyes, at the pretty face which lay so 
close to Christine’s sheltering arm. He glanced at 
the strong, erect figure of his eldest daughter ; then 


98 


M dr vis J ulians Wife. 


at the one which seemed, in contrast, so slight. He 
smiled and stooped to kiss again the smooth, fair 
cheek. Elsa laughed softly and stroked his beard. 

Presently he came over to Satia and Miss Hester, 
to arrange for their going to a hotel. But Satia 
scarcely heard what he said. She left it all to Miss 
Hester. Her thoughts had gone back to the days of 
sweet companionship between her own dear father 
and herself. She had, of course, understood noth- 
ing of the swiftly spoken, strange-sounding words 
which these two had exchanged^ but the tones, the 
looks, the caresses had filled her heart with a great 
longing for the past, which could not come again. 
She turned away, and with tear-dimmed eyes looked 
off across the now dark waters. She felt as lonely 
and forlorn as though she were tossing on the fur- 
thermost wave. She had not realized while out on 
the broad ocean, in the sunlight, enjoying the 
delight of simply existing in the great, free expanse 
of space all about her, how it would seem to come to 
a strange land, where no familiar face waited to greet 
her, where even the language was unintelligible. 
There was an inexpressible dreariness about it which 
weighed her down, from whose oppression she could 
not liberate herself. She was aroused from her 
gloomy thoughts by a touch on her arm. Christine 
and Elsa stood near. 


TJie Bergen Home, 


99 


“ Dear madame,” the former said, “ this is my little 
sister Elsa.” 

Elsa looked up with the shy, sweet glance that 
few could resist, and said, in slow, careful English, 
to which she gave a quaint accent charming to 
hear : 

“ I welcome you. Thiss iss home for you now.” 

The simple, half-hesitating words touched Satia’s 
already full heart. She threw her arms about the 
girl and kissed her tenderly. 

“Thank you, dear child,” was all she said, but she 
never forgot the moment nor ceased to love the 
gentle maiden who had thrown the first gleam of 
sunshine over her pathway through this new land. 

The next few weeks were busy ones for all the 
home-comers. 

Captain Lars had decided to remain in Bergen 
through the summer, contrary to his usual custom. 
Eric was to take the Sea Gull on a cruise along the 
African coast, when he should have returned from a 
visit to his uncle’s mountain home. He felt it to be 
his bounden duty to see that “ Cousin Erika” 
arived safely beneath her father’s roof, and he need 
not come directly back, since he was not to start off 
until after Christine’s wedding in June. 

Aunt Katrin had returned to her Swedish home, 
and Christine was again happy in the midst of her 


lOO 


Morris Julians Wife,. 


beloved flock. She was also making the last things 
to put into the great blue chest, now nearly full of 
snowy linen. 

Satia and Miss Hester were cozily settled in a 
tiny cottage, scarcely beyond call from Christine’s 
front door. They had taken this step most unex- 
pectedly. Satia’s wish had been to go at once to 
the interior, and to seek among the mountains a 
quiet spot; but she was so charmed with the old 
seaport town, and so delighted with the simplicity 
of Norwegian life, that she was seized with a desire 
to make here for a while a little home of her own. 
It happened most opportunely that some neighbors 
of the Nissens starting for America about this time, 
left vacant a small house, which Satia declared to 
be “just the thing for us, auntie.” 

Miss Hester made no objection, and they were 
soon comfortably settled in their new quarters. 
The services of a brisk, rosy-cheeked maid-servant, 
Annetje by name, left them abundant leisure. 

Satia at once threw herself heart and soul into the 
study of the Norwegian language, under the direc- 
tion of a competent instructor. She also hired a 
piano and began again the training of her voice. She 
took long walks every day. She arranged her 
various and numerous employments so that there 
were no idle hours, and she believed herself to be 


The Bergen Home, 


lOI 


happy in the enjoyment of the freedom she had so 
greatly desired. She felt it a joyous thing to be 
released from the silent but irresistible dominion of 
another’s will. She breathed more freely ; she 
grew strong and vigorous ; she did not lose the 
brilliant color which her long rest on old Ocean’s 
bosom had painted on cheek and lip. Apparently 
she was as light-hearted and glad as the birds who 
came to her door each morning for the crumbs she 
loved to throw to them. 

But she never spoke Oi the past. She did not 
allow herself to think of it ; she seldom ever went 
across to the broad-roofed house which sheltered 
Captain Lars and his numerous family ; she w^as ill 
at ease with Christine, and felt a strange shrinking 
from the sight of the little ones who were always 
close about her. When, sometimes, they came over 
with Miss Hester, they stared with round eyes of 
curious interest at all the pretty things they saw ; 
they remembered to speak politely to the lovely 
lady, but they would as soon have thought of climb- 
ing upon the beautiful, shining piano as of leaning 
against her knees and chattering to her about all 
which their little heads and hearts were full of. 

Elsa alone was the exception. She loved the 
dainty appointments of Satia’s temporary home. 
To Elsa she was a revelation, not only of personal 


102 


Morris Juliaiis Wife, 


loveliness and charm, but also of the capabilities of 
her own inmost self. Longings and aspirations 
hitherto unknown awoke within her. As she 
listened to Satia’s singing, the ^rich, sweet voice 
pouring forth wondrous strains of melody, interpret- 
ing the tone-thoughts of music’s greatest masters, 
carried upon its full volume the whole soul of this 
child in silent yearnings toward something higher 
than herself. She became conscious of that within 
her which clamored for expression. Especially was 
this so when she looked at the few excellent prints 
and photographs which hung on the walls of the 
sunny sitting-room where she spent much of her 
time with Satia. She was very fond of a fine copy 
of Sir Joshua Reynolds’ “Strawberry Girl.” She 
never tired of gazing into the sweet, artless face of 
the little maid until she felt that she could see 
almost to the very depths of the haunting eyes, far 
down into the childish soul which looked out from 
them. 

One morning, as she lay curled up on the rug, 
listening as Satia sang, and, as usual, with her eyes 
fixed upon this picture, the music suddenly changed 
into a minor strain ; it seemed to sob and moan and 
refuse to be comforted. All at once she fancied 
that the clasped hands before her fell apart, the 
quaint, pointed basket slipped from the round arm, 


The Bergen Home. 


103 


the berries rolled into the dust. And what a trans- 
formation came over the face of the girl ! Her lips 
quivered, great tears overflowed the dark eyes and 
ran down her cheeks; all the sunshine of a few min- 
utes before was clouded in grief and dismay. 

Elsa looked earnestly. She closed her eyes ; still 
she could seethe woe-begone countenance ; still the 
music sounded in her ears, sad, heart-breaking. A 
strange impulse seized her. Springing up noise- 
lessly, she found pencil and paper, and began to 
draw there the image which had impressed her so 
vividly. She became so absorbed in her work that 
she did not notice when Satia stopped singing and 
came softly behind her. Surprised and delighted at 
what she saw, Satia watched in silence the quick 
pencil strokes and the flushing, paling face of the 
excited girl ; but only for a moment. Elsa felt her 
presence ; she glanced up, startled, embarrassed, 
half-frightened to have her work seen by Satia ; she 
thrust it under her apron and burst into tears. 

“Take care, dear, do not injure it,” were Satia’s 
first words; and it was not until she had put the 
drawing safely away that she tried to comfort the 
trembling little artist. 

Satia was fond of Elsa’s quiet, affectionate ways ; 
she liked to have her about and quite enjoyed the 
lesson in “ American,” as Elsa called it, which they 


104 


Morris Julians Wife, 


had fallen into the fashion of having every morning, 
as well as their reading together the simple tales 
and ballads which formed a part of her own studies 
in the strange northern tongue. 

But, absorbed in herself and her work, she had 
not given to the real Elsa — the personality whose 
outer self she found so attractive — much more 
attention than she would have done to a roly-poly 
kitten on her lap. So she was both surprised and 
touched by the confidences which her loving sym- 
pathy now called forth. Elsa’s full heart needed 
but a tender touch to open wide its gates. Satia 
listened patiently to the outpouring ; she heard the 
whole history of the drawing, over which she was 
inwardly marveling. They talked long and earn- 
estly, and when, at last, Elsa went dancing home, 
Satia’s kiss was warm upon her lips and a new wor- 
ship of her idolized friend glowed within her 
breast. 

No sooner had she closed the door behind her, 
than Satia took the bit of paper and regarded it 
carefully. Although herself unskilled in the use of 
the pencil, she had a true eye and a cultivated taste. 
She saw that the child who had drawn the little 
sketch possessed no common gift. The picture was, 
of course, crude and faulty ; its whole merit lay in 
the wonderful change in the expression of the face. 


The Bergen Home. 


105 


Satia sang over, softly, the strains of her song ; she 
could see how they had wrought this fancy in Elsa’s 
sensitive brain ; she realized, too, how utterly power- 
less she herself was to express it in any such way as 
this. 

“ Elsa must have some lessons,” she said. “ She 
will be able to do something worth while, one of 
these days. There are sure to be good masters 
here.” 

She acted with her usual promptness, going first 
to Captain Lars for permission. This he readily 
gave her. 

“ Elsa is not like the rest of our children,” he told 
her, also. “ Her mother used to say so when she 
was a tiny little creature.” 

Arrangements were at once completed, and every 
morning, while Satia sang, Elsa, the happiest girl in 
the whole kingdom, sat near by, busy with her 
drawing. 

And so the days flew quickly on, until June was 
close at hand. 



CHAPTER X. 

ELSA. 

Miss Hester, in the meantime, neither sang nor 
drevv, nor had she Satia’s disinclination to visit the 
roomy, well-filled house across the way. On the 
contrary, she was very fond of doing so, and had' 
fallen quite into the habit of paying long visits there, 
when the two in her own home were too much 
absorbed to notice her absence. It was, in fact, no 
uncommon thing to see her sitting in a low rocker 
in the pleasant Nissen living-room, knitting indus- 
triously on stockings for smaller feet than her own, 
or sewing a long, white seam, while two or three of 
the children crowded around, listening breathlessly 
to some marvelous tale fresh from her brain. 

Sometimes she made them rag dolls; sometimes 
cut beauties from scraps of gay paper; once she 
surprised them all and herself, too, by manufacturing 
a whole Noah’s ark full of animals. It happened 
that Satia, on this occasion, entered the room just as 

[io6] 


Elsa, 


loy 


the last uaicorn had been set up in line with the 
long procession of hippopotami, rhinoceri, elephants, 
hyenas, camels and other remarkable-looking beasts, 
birds and fishes which stretched itself across the 
carpet. Truda, Ola and Tula sat on the floor, watch- 
ing with admiring eyes the fast-growing train. 
Miss Hester, with ruffled hair and flushed cheeks, 
her glasses pushed up on her forehead, her apron 
askew, was also kneeling on the floor, and bending 
with half-impatient determination over the refrac- 
tory unicorn who refused to stand upon his feet, but 
toppled over against the camel in a weak and help- 
less way. He was no match for Miss Hester, how- 
ever. With a last twist and pinch of his paper feet, 
he was placed firmly in position. 

“ There !” cried she, “you stupid thing! Don’t 
you dare to fall over again 1” 

Just then Satia came in. She heard the. words. 
She looked at the scene before her in utter amaze- 
ment. Could this be dignified Aunt Hester? Her 
surprise was soon swallowed up in. amusement. She 
could not help laughing. 

“ Why, auntie ! did you make all these ?” she 
exclaimed, coming nearer. 

Miss Hester blushed. She felt, and indeed, looked, 
foolish ; but she was equal to the emergency. 

“Yes, Satia,” she replied, promptly, as she got 


io8 


Morris Julians Wife. 


upon her feet and straightened her apron. “ 1 made 
every one of them, and I expect to go on making 
them. I didn’t know it was in me before. Perhaps 
I’ve reached my second childhood.” 

Here she was interrupted by a wail from Ola, who 
was pointing her fat finger at a big black bear who 
had tumbled over. Miss Hester hastened to the 
rescue, and Satia stole away. She felt a curious 
tightening about her heart, as though some one had 
laid violent hands upon it. 

It seemed to her as though she was fated never to 
come beneath this roof without being reminded of 
her own motherhood and its neglected duties. The 
sight of Christine always reproached her, and now 
it was Aunt Hester — Aunt Hester, who had always 
loved her quiet, elegant life of ease and self-culture, 
apparently satisfied and happy, but who now sat 
upon the floor, with two or three babies, cutting out 
paper oxen and whales, and looked happier than 
ever before. She thought of a dear little fellow far 
away, who had neither mother nor aunt to amuse 
him, and she felt a vague, unreasoning impatience 
against the blue-eyed girl who had so imperatively 
demanded Aunt Hester’s services in behalf of the 
prostrate bear. 

She had w’alked rapidly away from the house 
when she left it. She felt too thoroughly disturbed 


Elsa. 


109 


to go back to her music. But she soon found that 
all these disquieting thoughts were crowding upon 
her too thickly. She had kept them rigidly under 
control ever since she had turned her back upon her 
native land. They must be kept down now. She 
went quickly home, resolved to commence at once 
upon a difficult translation she had on hand. 

Entering her cozy sitting-room, she was surprised 
to see Elsa lying on the lounge asleep. She was 
startled, too, to notice how pale and thin the girl 
had grown. Her slender hands were very thin ; her 
blue-veined temples were hollow ; her cheeks had 
lost their rounded outlines ; she looked old and 
worn. 

As Satia stood regarding her with distress and 
alarm, Elsa stirred uneasily and opened her eyes. 
She sprang up at once. 

“ I did not mean to sleep, madame !” she exclaimed. 
“ But I was tired, and thought I would rest awhile. 
You haf had a pleasant walk?” 

She busied herself about Satia, as she was so fond 
of doing, removing her hat and wraps, bringing her 
slippers and making her thoroughly comfortable. 
Satia leaned back in her chair, and received these 
ministrations in silence. The color had come back 
brightly to Elsa’s cheeks ; her beautiful, large eyes 
were softly brilliant ; she seemed the very picture 


no 


Morris Julian's Wife, 


of health. But the woman, who was covertly 
regarding her, saw beneath- the fair, animated exte- 
rior, the real image, which truthful slumber had 
revealed. Her heart smote her that she had never 
before noticed these signs of failing health. She 
wondered how she could have been so blind, and 
she felt a new tenderness toward the child. 

For a long time Satia sat there without speaking. 
She observed that Elsa, having discharged her self- 
imposed duties of love, had quietly seated herself at 
the drawing-table and taken up her pencil. As she 
worked she grew pale again, and once or twice 
sighed wearily. 

“ Come here, Elsa,” said Satia. 

The girl brought a low stool and sat quite near. 

Do you not feel well to-day, dear child ?” she 
asked, pushing the shining hair back from her fore- 
head and looking closely at the sharpened outlines 
thus revealed. 

Oh, yes, madame ; only a little tired.” 

“ I am afraid you have been working too steadily, 
Elsa. How would you like to take a holiday and go 
with me to see Erika and her wonderful moun- 
tains ?” 

A look of eager delight overspread her face for 
an instant ; but it quickly faded. 

Oh, please, madame,” she cried, “ do not take me 


Elsa. 


1 1 1 


away from my lessons. You know I must stay at 
home with the little ones when Tina goes, and that 
will be so soon now. Tm quite well — indeed I am 
— only a pain here sometimes, but it soon goes 
away.” 

She pressed her hands to her breast as she spoke. 
“ Have you had this pain long, Elsa ?” 

“ Only thiss spring, madame.” 

“ And the wedding — when is it to be ?” 

“ In June, madame. Ole will soon be here now, 
and Tina iss all ready for him,” 

“That is good. Come, lie down now and I will 
sing for you, and you can finish your drawing 
to-morrow. Do you know that Professor Elberg 
says very nice things of your work?” 

The quick color again glowed on Elsa’s cheek. 
Words of praise from her loved friend were rare. 

In spite of objections, the excursion to the coun- 
try was arranged. Satia said nothing, even to Miss 
Hester, of her fears concerning the girl’s health. 
She tried to convince herself that there could be 
nothing serious — nothing but what a few weeks of 
rest and change would remedy — so she made her 
own caprice the excuse for going. She was glad 
when she learned that Miss Hester really preferred 
to remain behind, as she wished much to be alone 
with Elsa. 


I I 2 


Morris J ulian s Wife, 


“ It will be for only a few days, auntie. I hope to 
find just the place for our summer home. Then I’ll 
come and fetch you and our household gods.’’ 

They set off by train bright and early one morn- 
ing, and a few hours later Miss Hester went across 
the way to see how it fared with her small friends 
there. To her surprise she found traces of tears on 
Christine’s face. She noticed, also, that the blue 
chest had been removed. She said nothing, how- 
ever, but sat down as usual with the children gath- 
ered about her. It was not until they had all run 
out to play in the yard, some time later, that Chris- 
tine brought her work and sat near. She was mak- 
ing a dress for Tula, and sewed in silence. Miss 
Hester saw, presently, that tears were dropping one 
by one on the pretty blue cashmere. She leaned 
over and drew.it gently away. 

“ Do not grieve so over Elsa’s absence, dear,” she 
said. “She will soon be at home again. And see, 
all this salt water is not good for Tula’s gown.” 

Miss Hester smiled half-playfully, half chidingly, 
but there was no answering smile on Christine’s 
face. Instead, the tears came faster, and were min- 
gled with sobs. 

“ It is not that she has gone away,” she said pres- 
ently, “but oh ! do you not see how white and thin 
she is? I would never let myself think of it, or 


Elsa, 


113 


speak of it before, even to our father. But I must 
now, or my heart will break. You did not know, of 
course, but I did when I first looked into her face, 
the nig-ht we came home, that she was not well. 
She had grown so slight and so like our own dear 
mother before she went away from us. I noticed, 
too, that she was always tired, and I managed to 
take from her, one by one, the household tasks she 
had always done. She never seemed to know this, 
for her whole heart was taken up with the beauti- 
ful new friend who had come to her from across 
the water. Once, I am sure, I could not have 
borne that, for Elsa had loved no one so well as she 
did me. But now I am glad, for I know she is so 
happy, and I have hoped that she might in some 
way grow stronger, by means of all her new pleas- 
ures and occupations. Every night she would 
come and nestle in my arms just as baby Ola does, 
and tell me of her drawings, the songs she had 
heard, the loveliness and kindness of madame, and 
I never let her see how hard it was for me.” 

She paused, and Miss Hester clasped her hands 
in both her own. 

“ 1 am glad that you have spoken so freely to me, 
dear Tina. It will be a relief, I know. Elsa does 
seem far from well, but I think there is no ground 
for serious uneasiness in regard to her. This trip 


Morris Juliaiis Wife. 


114 


to the mountains will do her a great deal of good, 
without doubt. If it does not, then she ought to 
have the best medical advice immediately. But we 
must not be needlessly anxious, you know.’' 

“ Oh, yes, and I do not mean to be ; only — only — 
Well, never mind. We will not speak of it any 
more, and 1 will try not to be such a baby again.” 

“ You are not a baby at all,” remonstrated Miss 
Hester, warmly, “ but a brave., loving sister. I do 
not blame you the least bit for feeling worried, 
especially just now when the time is drawing so 
near for your marriage.” 

Christine changed color. Then she said, speak- 
ing in low, hurried tones, as though she could not 
trust herself : 

“ I decided, some weeks ago, Miss Hester, that I 
could not be married this summer. I wanted to 
keep it from Elsa until the very last ; but now that 
she has gone, I cannot pretend any longer. I have 
packed away all the things, and to-night I am 
going to tell father. To-morrow — to-morrow — Ole 
is expected. His vessel is already down the harbor. 
He would not wish me to go and leave the little 
ones. Ole is too good for that. But, oh, he will be 
so disappointed! We have been looking forward 
to this time for so long. I cannot bear to think that 
I must tell him how it is. It seems — ” 


"'An Old Simpleton. 


M 


II5 


Here the children came running in. She with- 
drew her hands from Miss Hester’s, and went to 
attend to their wants. 


CHAPTER XI. 

‘‘ AN OLD SIMPLETON." 

Very soon after she had finished her supper that 
evening, Miss Hester had a caller — none other 
than Captain Lars. She was expecting him ; in fact, 
had sent for him to come, and she greeted him as 
one who is right welcome. 

As they drew their chairs before the light wood- 
fire, her heart thrilled with a sense of his strength, 
his manliness, his gentleness. 

Miss Hester’s heart had been experiencing a great 
variety of hitherto unknown sensations ever since 
that eventful night on the ocean. During the forty 
years of her earthly life, it had throbbed on in 
peaceful, regular fashion, undisturbed by the close 
proximity of the sex she had always secretly con- 
sidered vastly her inferior. She had become con- 
firmed in the belief that her brother was the only 
man worthy the name. 

Had anyone told her, an hour before the burning 


ii6 Morris Julians Wife, 

of the Rochester, that she was about to meet her fate 
in the person of a Norwegian captain, who, at that 
moment, was hurrying towards her as fast as wind 
and wave could bear him, she would have scouted 
the idea as an insane vagary. 

But such was the case. During the long days 
when Satia rested dreamily among her cushions ; 
when Eric and Erika looked off together over the 
crested billows ; when Christine’s thoughts were 
with Ole and the little ones at home — these two, so 
widely separated by birth, education and experience 
were discovering a common possession in that mys- 
terious attraction which binds two lives into one. 

Good Miss Hester was at first bewildered, 
amazed and even alarmed at this sudden uprising 
on the part of her long-quiet emotions. She tried 
to restore her unruly self to its wonted order ; but 
all in vain. Before the spires and towers of Bergen 
came in sight, she was forced to acknowledge, with 
a blush of true womanly shame, that her heart had 
proved a traitor, and that she had no desire to free 
herself from fetters which grew dearer every hour. 

Sometimes, as she stood by the side of her tall, 
stalwart captain, and realized something of the pro- 
tecting strength and tenderness which had come 
about her life, she wondered how she could have 
lived so long without it. She marvelled, too, at 


An Old Simpletonl* 


117 

Satia, who could leave the shelter of her husband’s 
home. She had never understood her niece. She 
did so now less than ever, and she resolved that she 
could be a party to her willful absence from Morris’ 
side no longer than absolutely necessary. Miss 
Hester had been long in awaking to woman’s true 
sphere, but she now appreciated it most fully. 
Morris she had always admired ; now she beheld 
him, and, indeed, all men, through rose-colored 
glasses of Cupid’s own make. When she had con- 
sented to come away with Satia, she had hoped and 
believed that a few weeks, or, at farthest, months, of 
separation from her home and child would find her 
anxious to return. She knew, of course, that there 
was some trouble, but any detailed explanation of 
her singular conduct had never been given. Miss 
Hester had simply indulged her, as she had always 
done. But now she took a different view of the 
matter. It seemed to her a dreadful and unhallowed 
thing that a wife and mother should be wandering 
in such fashion over the earth. 

In compliance with Satia’s earnest wish, no letters 
had yet been written home. This had seemed to 
Miss Hester both unkind and unwise; but, as usual, 
she had yielded. She did so the more readily, per- 
haps, because there were no near family connections. 
Now, however, she was less under the sway of the 


it8 


Morris Julian's Wife, 


younger woman’s will. Her own independence of 
purpose was developing rapidly, and she had not 
hesitated to send, on the very morning of Satia’s 
departure for the naountains, a cablegram to 
Morris : 

“We were rescued from the Rochester. Come, at 
once, to Bergen, Norway. Bring Maynard. 

“ Hester Maynard.” 

She now felt more free to make her own plans, 
which had not yet been definitely decided upon. 
Since her conversation with Christine, she had 
become convinced that she ought to delay no longer 
in fixing the date of her marriage, and letting the 
children know of the coming change in her rela- 
tions to them. They were, as yet, entirely ignorant 
of their father’s intentions in the matter. 

“ Have you had any talk with Christine, to-day, 
Lars ?” she asked, when they had conversed of 
other things for a time. 

“ No ; not specially,’’ he replied. 

“ I hoped that you might be able to see me first. 
She is going to tell you that she cannot marry Ole 
when he comes.” 

He turned to her in great surprise. 

“ Not marry Ole ?” he repeated, as though it was 
only by hearing the words again that he could com- 
prehend them. “ Why not, pray ?” 


An Old Simple tony 


119 

“ Because she thinks Elsa too feeble to take her 
place.” 

“ Ah,” he exclaimed, with a long, slow intonation, 
“that is just like my noble Christine. What other 
girl would do such a thing T 

He sat looking into the fire for some time. Then 
he glanced at the figure by his side. Miss Hester 
was gazing at the fire, too. Something in her atti- 
tude and in the expression of her face that he had 
never seen there before, attracted his attention. 
There was a new, womanly charm about her. He 
regarded earnestly the dark, bright eyes, the crown 
of soft, abundant hair, the small, capable hands 
clasped upon her lap. He reached out his broad 
palm and covered them in a gentle clasp. 

“ Our little Elsa is not strong,” he said, “ and 
ought not to have the care of the home. Tina’s 
marriage must not be put off on any account. Per- 
haps it would be best to send for Katrin again. 
What do you think about it, my friend ?” 

His tone was quite grave, but there was a mis- 
chievous twinkle in his eyes. The color crept 
slowly up into Miss Hester’s cheeks, and presently 
a smile curved her lips. Looking up, at last, and 
meeting the unspoken entreaty of his face, she 
laughed softly. 


I 20 


Morris Julians Wife, 


“ Katriii is so far away. Suppose you try me for 
awhile." 

Satia and Elsa were gone nearly two weeks. 
The latter had not benefitted much, if any, by the 
trip. The drawing lessons were put off for the 
present, and everyone was busy preparing for the 
wedding — Christine’s wedding — which was to take 
place very early in June. 

Satia had been at home but a few hours, when her 
attention was drawn to the unaccountable behavior 
of her aunt. She replied to her questions almost at 
random, and seemed so entirely absent-minded that 
Satia began to wonder what could be the matter. 
She said nothing, however, until Miss Hester, tak- 
ing up the watering-pot, began sprinkling the car- 
pet instead of the flowers. 

“ Auntie, have you lost your mind ?’’ she 
exclaimed then, amazed. 

“ No, dear, only my heart," replied Miss Hester, 
so quickly that Satia’s astonishment turned to 
alarm. This was increased by seeing her aunt 
blush and smile in the oddest way. 

In truth, that lady had taken herself by surprise. 
Her answer to Satia’s inquiry had flashed out of its 
own accord, apparently. Miss Hester had been 
greatly dreading the breaking of this news ; and 


An Old Simpleton. 


I2I 


now she congratulated herself on having gotten 
well over it. But she soon perceived that her niece 
had utterly failed to understand her. 

“ Why don’t you go and lie down, auntie ?” she 
said gently, coming and taking the watering-pot 
from her hand. “ I’ll do this.” 

“ Lie down ?” cried Miss Hester, half-vexed that 
the whole thing had to be gone over with again. 

What for, I should like to know ?” 

“ Why, do — do you — do you feel — quite well this 
morning, auntie ?” asked Satia, cautiously. She 
remembered having read that insane people were 
extremely suspicious, and she really believed that 
something was wrong with Miss Hester’s brain. 

“ I’m perfectly well, Satia,” said Miss Hester then. 
“ I know that I am acting like an old simpleton ; but 
the truth is, I have something to tell you, and I 
don’t know how to do it.” 

Satia could only gaze at her in silent wonder. 

“ You turn that chair around so I can’t see your 
face and I’ll try to begin,” said the elder lady. 

Satia obeyed, more than ever convinced that 
serious trouble was near at hand, and trying to 
remember whether or not there were any knives or 
scissors within her aunt’s reach. She carelessly 
moved her chair towards the door, as she sat down, 
and noticed with thankfulness that the key was on 


122 


Morris Julians Wife, 


the outside, so that she might spring and turn it 
quickly, if worse came to worst. 

After one or two preliminary coughs. Miss Hester 
asked : 

Have you ever thought that Captain Lars had 
beautiful eyes ?” 

“ I have never noticed them, auntie.” 

“ Did you ever think that he might marry the 
Widow Lansteen, who lives in the yellow house 
around the corner ?” 

“ I never have, auntie.^' 

“ I have heard that he is to be married when 
Christine is.” 

Miss Hester had seized upon this remark as an 
inspiration, thinking that, of course, Satia would 
naturally ask to whom. But she did not. 

She only said she hoped the new wife would be 
good to the children. 

I have seen the lady, Satia.” 

“ And did you like her, auntie ?” asked Satia, with 
difficulty following this peculiar train of thought. 
She was trying to decide what to do. 

“ 1— I think you do,” was the hesitating reply. 

“ I?” exclaimed Satia, aroused now to closer atten- 
tion and turning around in her chair. “ Why, I 
don’t know any of the people here.’’ 

“ But you know me, don’t you ?” cried poor Miss 


''A 71. Old Sijiipleton, 


123 


Hester, in desperation. “ Satia Julian, sometimes 
you can certainly be the stupidest girl I ever saw. 
Anybody else would have known what I meant 
long ago.” 

Satia had never before seen her auntie so excited 
and so disturbed. She went to her and tried to 
soothe her, still without comprehending the purport 
ot her words. Miss Hester, in turn, began to 
wonder if anything were the trouble with Satia. 
She looked at her a moment, and said : 

“ Why is it, dear, that you cannot understand that 
1 am to marry Captain Lars ?” 

Satia grew pale. There were assuredly no signs 
of mental disturbance in the gentle, kindly face. 
But — could this thing be possible ? 

“ You — you didn’t say so before, auntie,” she 
stammered, at length. 

“ No, not in so many words,” said Miss Hester, 
smiling. “ I told you 1 was acting like a simpleton.” 

It was true, then. Satia hardly knew whether to 
laugh or cry. She did neither, fortunately, but 
threw her arms around her auntie’s neck and kissed 
her heartily. i 

“ 1 surely hope that you will be very happy, 
auntie. No one deserves it more than you do. 
But what,” she asked, with a sudden thought of 


124 


Mo7^ris Julians Wife, 


herself, “is to become of me, in this unlooked-for 
overturn of all our plans, you naughty body? ’ 

Miss Hester blushed guiltily. She was daily, 
almost hourly, looking for a reply to her cablegram. 
But she dared not hint to Satia of what she had 
done. 

“ Oh, we will stow you away somewhere,'’ she 
answered playfully, “ or we will lend you Elsa in 
my place." 

“‘We will!’" repeated Satia, laughing. “That 
sounds very fine, does it not? 1 ought to have 
know better than to gooff and leave you here alone. 
I might have suspected that you would get into 
mischief." 

“ The ‘ mischief,’ as you call it, was all done long 
before we set foot in Bergen," replied Miss Hester, 
much amused at Satia's astonishment. 

But though Satia could laugh about the matter, 
and tried to enter heartily into all Miss Hester’s 
plans, she was really filled with dismay and regret 
at this most unexpected step. 

Personally, it did not make so much difference to 
her as it would have done six months earlier* 
With renewed bodily vigor, she felt entirely capa- 
ble of attending to the details of living, as she could 
not have done at first. But she considered it a 


An Old Simpleton^' 


125 


most disastrous choice, so far as Miss Hester’s own 
happiness was concerned. 

How she could consent to exchange her beautiful . 
American home, enriched with all that money and 
taste could procure, her life of ease, her independ- 
ence^ for the care of this big family of Norwegian 
children, and the companionship of the big captain, 
and the limitations of the crowded, old-fashioned 
house, was to her a mystery of mysteries. Satia 
did not yet possess the key to this truly the greatest 
of all mysteries, the fact that love makes all things 
possible and beautiful. Far, far in the future, across 
many years of pain and tears, the precious secret 
waited for her coming. Now, she could only 
marvel, in sorrowful regret, at the choice which 
seemed to her so inexplicable. 

The next few days passed quickly. Ole returned, 
proud of a successful voyage and happy as a king 
as he assisted Christine in the preparation of their 
new home. The children were told of the mother 
who was to come to them in Christine’s place. She 
had already won their hearts, and they welcomed 
her joyfully. 

One pleasant afternoon the two weddings took 
place. 

The younger bride, amid tears and blessings and 
loving farewells, went with her husband to the home 


126 Morris Julian's Wife, 

not far away, where they were to begin their 
life together. The elder, not less truly content, 
leaned upon the arm of her chosen lord, and gathered 
their little ones about her. 

Satia, who, forgetting her personal prejudices, 
had made the old home a bower of beauty and the 
day a joyous one for them all, came at dusk and 
begged for Elsa to keep her company. 

“ You have a houseful left,” she said, with win- 
some grace, to Captain Lars, whom she was begin- 
ning to like in spite of herself ; “ you can spare me 
this one.” 

“ Yes,” he answered, smiling, “ so long as you 
live within sound of my voice.” 

It happened that he was soon asked to trust her 
with Satia far beyond this limit. Elsa did not 
improve in health. At last a physician’s advice was 
sought. He advised change of climate, and Satia at 
once suggested Switzerland. Their arrangements 
were quickly made, and by the last of June letters 
were received from them saying that they were com- 
fortably settled in a charming Swiss village, and that 
the roses were already coming back to Elsa’s cheeks. 

Meantime Morris had neither been seen nor heard 
from. 



CHAPTER XIL 
marie’s story. 

A second serious illness followed cioseiy upon 
Morris’ reading of the burning of the Rochester^ and 
the loss of nearly all on board. . 

The March winds were blowing bleak and cold 
before he was able to communicate with Doctor 
Jarvis, to try, if possible, to discover something of the 
actual fate and the last hours of his wife. 

Through the steamship office he learned the gentle- 
man’s address, and by correspondence with him, 
found that he made frequent trips to New York. 
Upon one of these occasions he stopped over at the 
Fielding home, and Morris had the consolation of 
hearing of Satia from one who had seen her very 
shortly before leaving the ship. Doctor Jarvis 
remembered her perfectly, although he had never 
spoken with her. His attention had been attracted 
by her calmness during the terrifying scenes immedi- 
ately following the outbreak of the fire. He noticed, 

[127] 


I2S Morris Julians Wife, 

also, her special kindness to two young girls who 
seemed to be alone, and he saw that they were pre- 
paring to be lowered in one of the boats, when he had 
left the ship. 

All the boats were swamped almost at once, he 
said. The sea was running very high, and there was 
so much confusion as to prevent the maintenance of 
discipline. He himself had been thrown into the 
water, but managed to get hold of a floating timber 
to which he clung, for ages it seemed, until picked 
up by a steamer which came near about daybreak. 

As soon as he could travel, Morris went to New 
York, and tried in every way to gain additional 
information regarding the catastrophe. But none 
was forthcoming. “ So far as we know,” they told 
him at the steamship office, “ no one else was res- 
cued. It is possible, of course, that some may have 
been carried beyond sound of this particular 
steamer, but it is not likely. And even if it were so, 
surely there has been more than ample time for 
communication with friends.” 

Morris could but admit the truth of this, and was 
obliged, at last, to accept the certainty of Satia’s 
death as absolute. 

The blow was a terrible one. Coming so soon 
after that which had utterly unmanned him, he had 
no strength with which to resist it. 


Marie s Story. 


129 


To his sister's great distress, she saw him settling 
into a state of profound melancholy, from which even 
the sight and companionship of little Maynard could 
not always arouse him. He would sit for hours 
with bowed head and nerveless hands, gazing 
mournfully into space, seldom speaking. He was 
gentle, too, and thoughtful of her, but so hopeless 
and so sad that her heart ached to see him. At 
times she could scarce!}^ believe that this sorrowful, 
silent man was her brother. 

One morning she came and sat near him. 

Morris,” she said, “ I have been thinking that I 
ought to go and see Clover this spring. Suppose 
we all make her a little visit ?” 

He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. 

“Yes,’Mie answered then, “ you ought surely to 
go. You have had a lonesome, hard winter here 
with me. Go, by all means, Mary.” 

“ But not without you, Morris. I could not leave 
you alone.” 

“ I shall always be alone,” he murmured, quickly ; 
then, laying his hand on hers, he added : “ Forgive 
me, dear. Never mind what I say. You know 
that what little there is left of my poor heart is all 
yours and Maynard’s. Kelsie will be here. We 
shall get on nicely. Do not, I beg of you, Mary, 
rnake me feel that my wretched life is shadowing 


130 


Morris Julians Wife. 


yours when you want and ought to be with Clover, 
by keeping you here. And do not ask me to go. 
Quiet and silence are my only comforts. With 
them I can live in the past again without disturb- 
ance.” 

But, Morris, have you not noticed that Maynard 
does not seem as robust as usual this spring? He 
does not get over the hard cold he took a month 
ago, and I really think a milder climate will be bet- 
ter for him.” 

This aroused him even more than she had hoped. 
He at once decided to go, and in less than a week 
they were on their way to the sunny land of the 
South. 

Clover’s home was as bright and cheery as her 
own sweet self, and the two children filled it to 
overflowing with sunshine. Dorothy was running 
all around by this time, and Maynard at once con- 
stituted himself the devoted attendant of his tiny 
and altogether charming little cousin. Whatever 
delighted him pleased his father also ; consequently 
these two small persons soon discovered in Morris a 
most obedient subject, and they were not slow in 
demanding his constant compliance with their 
wishes. 

At first he was rather absent-minded, and it 
required a good deal of persuasion and many remon- 


Marie’s Sio7y. 


131 


strances on the part of his youthful tyrants to trans- 
form him into a satisfactory coach-horse, a first-class 
locomotive, an agile monkey or a two-humped 
camel. But he learned to adapt himself to their 
needs, and Mary saw, with gladness, that all this 
romping with them was doing him a world of good. 
There were now several hours, at least, during the 
day when he forgot himself and his grief. 

One day, as she and Clover sat sewing, they heard 
a light step on the stairs, and presently a bright face 
peeped in at the door. 

Clover sprang up. “ Why, Marie Fontenelle,” 
she exclaimed, with the greatest surprise and 
delight, as she greeted the young girl affectionately, 
“ I thought you were thousands of miles from here.” 

“ And so I was, dear Mrs. Raymond. But now 
I’m here, and so glad to see you once more. Where 
is my little pet, Dolly ?” 

“ She is out in the garden with Uncle Morris and 
Maynard, and sweeter than ever, of course.” 

Marie laughed as she kissed Clover on both 
cheeks in pretty, French fashion. 

“ Of course you think so,” she said, archly. “ I 
think I must go to see for myself.” 

“ Presently. Let me now introduce you to my 
mother. Mamma, you have often heard us speak of 
Marie Fontenelle.” 




132 


Moi'ris J 2dia7is Wife. 


“ And now,” she continued, when they were all 
seated again, ‘‘ how have you been all this time, and 
where is Madeleine ?” 

“ Did you not receive my letter, then ?” asked 
Marie, in surprise. 

“ No. None has ever come, and 1 thought you 
were so busy having a delightful time that you had 
forgotten all about your promise to write.” 

“ Ah, never, dear Mrs. Raymond. It is too bad 
that it never came. Then you do not know of our 
misfortune and that we came back to America 
before we got home ?” 

“ Not one word,” replied Clover, greatly inter- 
ested. “ What was it?” 

“ You surely heard of the burning of the Rochester 
last October?” 

Clover turned pale. 

“ Oh, yes, Marie. My dear friend, Satia, was on 
it; and — but — why — ”she stammered, as a thought 
flashed across her mind, “ were you on the same 
steamer, Marie? And did you not see her? Do 
you know if she was saved, too?” 

“ Satia !” repeated Marie, slowly. “ Yes, surely 
that is the strange, pretty name madame’s aunt 
called her.” 

“ Her aunt I” cried Mrs. Fielding, excitedly. 


Marie s Story. 


^33 


“ That must be Miss Hester! Oh, Miss Marie, you 
bring us precious news 1” 

“ 1 am glad,” said Maria, excited, too, forgetting 
her usual careful English. “ I will then tell you all 
of it which I can.” 

Clover and her mother drew quite near and 
listened breathlessly. 

Madeleine and 1 went to New York from here, 
and you remember that our grandm^re was soon 
going to California. On the steamer we spoke to 
no one. But madame, she saw we were alone, and 
she was so kind to us. One night the fire came ; 
everybody scream and run about, and it grew hot- 
ter all the time. Oh, Sainte Vierge, but it was 
horrible 1 Madeleine and 1 crept to the corner of 
our cabin and prayed. We could not tell where to 
go nor what to do. Nobody thought of the two 
poor French girls. But presently the sweet madame 
she came to find us and make us get in the little 
boat with her and the tante. I can only tell that we 
were dropped over the side of the ship and tossed 
all about on the waves a long time ; and then a 
small, little ship came along and took us up. We 
came on this ship — they call it a bark, 1 think — to a 
place what you call Fernandeenah, in Florida. 

“The captain and his two filles were from Norway, 
on the other side ; they were so good and kind to 


134 


Morris J ulia n 's Wife. 


us, but the dearest of all was our sweet madame. 
She wrote her name on a card and gave to us when 
we left Fernandeenah to come back here ; but I not 
know how I lost it ; but I can be sure that one name 
was Satia, and — ” 

She was interrupted by screams from both the 
ladies, and she looked up to see Morris, deathly 
pale, standing in the doorway. 

Mary sprang toward him. But he did not fall, as 
she thought he was about to do. He waved her off 
and came directly to Marie. 

“ Will you tell me again about all this, please ? 1 

think — I think you must be speaking of my wife, 
whom we have thought lost. There can scarcely 
be two Satias. Where did you see her?” 

Mary quickly told him of all that they had heard, 
and they waited impatiently for Marie to continue, i 
Morris felt his heart thrill and bound within him as | 
she described “ madame’s ” appearance. | 

“She was tall and slender, with lovely, graceful I 
manners, but very quiet and sad all the time. She ' 
had beautiful, large, brown eyes and the prettiest 
soft hair. Her voice was low and very sweet.” 

“Can you recall any article of her dress?” asked 
Mary. 

“ No, not specially. But I do remember a tiny ^ 
ring of twisted gold set with sapphires, which she ; 


Marie s Story. 


135 


wore above her wedding ring. 1 saw the stones 
sparkle in the light of the flames, while we were in 
the little boat.” 

How his thoughts went back with a bound, to the 
night in Venice, when she had seen and fancied the 
quaint circlet ! 

“ But 3 ^ou and Madeleine,” asked Clover, when 
Marie had told over and over, again all she could 
recollect concerning Satia, what did you do 

“ Oh, Mees Hester put us on the train in Fernan- 
deenah, and we -started to come here to the grand- 
m^re for more money and clothes. We telegraphed 
to her from Tallahassee. She had already left New 
Orleans on the way to our uncle’s in California, and 
was in St. Louis, where our telegram was forwarded 
to her. She sent for us to join her there, and after 
awhile she went to France with us. She said she 
would not let us go alone again.” 

“ And Madeleine — is she here with you now ?” 

NoUy pas du tout. She was married last month, 
and I was so lonesome that 1 came back with our 
grandmother. And 1 am going to be here all sum- 
mer. Isn’t that fine?” 

“ It is, indeed. And I hope you will have the 
pleasure of seeing Aunt Satia here before long, too.” 

Morris had left the room, and already begun his 
preparations for going to Fernandina. 


136 


Moi^'is Julian's Wife. 


“ I cannot tell when 1 shall see you again, Mary,” 
he said, as he bade her good-bye. “ I shall trace 
that ship and find Satia, if it takes me around the 
world. For the present, I shall leave Maynard with 
you. I will let you hear from me frequently. 
Think of me often, my dearest and most devoted of 
sisters, and pray for my success. It is the prayers 
and the love of women like you that make life pos- 
sible tor men like me.” 

He stroked her hair tenderly, and Mary, as she 
looked up into his face with eyes alight with love 
and sympathy, did not need to speak any words to 
assure him of her promise. 

With Maynard in her arms, she stood watching 
him as he walked away. He had seemed more like 
his old self, since hearing Marie’s story, than she 
had ever expected to see him again. She hoped, oh, 
so earnestly, that when she next saw him, Satia 
would be with him, bringing a mother’s love and 
care to the dear little son, who needed them so 
greatly, and a wife’s companionship to tiie lonely 
man. Her eyes had filled with tears unconsciously 
to herself ; she first became aware of this by Mayn- 
ard’s trying to wipe them away. 

“ Dee mamma gone. Dee papa gone. Auntie 
ky. Mayna kiss auntie.” 


Mai^ies Story. 


^37 


He threw his arms around her neck and pressed 
his soft lips to her cheek. 

“ Auntie laugh now,” he cried, joyfully, as she 
smiled. “ Come le’s find Dorty now and pay hoi'se; 
please, dee auntie.” 

Arriving at Fernandina, Morris had no trouble in 
finding on the shipping records the arrival of the 
bark Sea Gull, Captain Lars Nissen, Bergen, Nor- 
way, on November 27th, and its departure for 
Jamaica on December 4th. But he had no means of 
knowing whether she had reached home. Neither 
could he find anyone who remembered her passen- 
gers. Marie having gone directly to the railway 
station, had, of course, told him nothing of their 
having stayed at the hotel. Fortunately, the idea of 
examining the different registers occurred to Morris, 
and he had the satisfaction of reading the following 
entries at the “ Egmont :” 

Miss Hester Maynard .... Nov. 27. 

Mrs. Morris Julian Nov. 27. 

Miss Christine Nissen .... Nov. 27. 

Upon inquiry, he also discovered that they had 
left the hotel on the same day that the Sea Gull left 
port, and at last found the porter who recollected 
that their trunks were sent to the vessel. But 
whether they had gone to Jamaica only, or to Nor- 


Morris Julian's W ife. 


138 


way, or elsewhere, he was unable even to conjecture. 
While trying to decide what was best to do, he saw 
in the shipping news column of the Fernandina 
Mirror the arrival of another Norwegian bark, the 
Odo, Captain Fienstein, Bergen, Norway. 

He at once sought out this captain, and learned 
from him that the Sea Gull had cleared for Oporto, 
Spain, on the same day the Odo left for Fernandina ; 
also, that she expected to go as far south as Sierra 
Leone before returning home. When Morris asked 
if her captain was still Nissen, Fienstein replied in 
the affirmative, without explaining that it was the 
son and not the father. 

So Morris set off for Oporto, calculating that he 
would catch the Sea Gull there, and at last be able 
to learn something definite of Satia’s whereabouts. 
To his unspeakable delight he did so. At first he 
w^as rather disappointed at not finding Captain Lars 
himself, but Eric told him even more than Marie 
could do of the fire at sea, the rescue, the days in 
Fernandina. He was also able to add to this the 
history of the weeks and months following until 
they were all safely in Bergen. Further than this 
he knew very little, for he had left almost immedi- 
ately with Erika for her mountain home, and had 
not returned until a day or two before Christine’s 
wedding and his taking command of the Sea GulL 


Morris in Bergen, 


139 


But Morris was, for the present, satisfied to know 
where his wife had been only two weeks before. 
He could now almost count the hours before he 
should see her. In London he found Miss Hester’s 
cablegram, which had been forwarded from 
America, and had been awaiting him for some time. 
This made assurance doubly sure, and he hastened 
on his northward journey full of joy at the meeting 
so soon to be, full of impatience at the slowly 
crawling train and the more snail-like steamers. 

At last, however, the chimney-tops and steep, 
gabled roofs of Bergen came within range of his 
! eager eyes, and his feet pressed the pavements which 
i had already known Satia’s light tread. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

MORRIS IN BERGEN. * 

Mrs, Hester Nissen was playing with Baby Ola. 
She was instructing that small person in the story 
of her pink toes, and had gotten as far as “ this 
little pig stays at home,” when, instead of a gentle 
tweak, the poor toev^got a sudden pinch, and Baby 
Ola came nearer than ever before to being 


140 


Morris Julians Wife, 


dropped upon the floor. Mrs. Nissen had seen 
Morris descending from a carriage at her gate. 

Before he was fairly in, the front door flew open 
and Aunt Hester was clinging to his arm, laughing 
and crying in the same breath. In spite of his 
self-command, Morris felt his brain whirling. Long- 
borne suspense and a suspicion of he hardly knew 
what direful news, all combined to unnerve him. 
He managed, however, to preserve an outward 
calmness as he followed her into the house, asking, 
but. being apparently unheard : “ Where is Satia ?” 

Mrs. Hester, scarcely less excited than he at see- 
ing a familiar face, and this one in particular, from 
home, took him directly into the living room. 
Morris looked eagerly around to discover, perhaps, 
some silent answer to his question. But he could 
not imagine Satia even being in such a room as this, 
much less leaving there any of her personal belong- 
ings. He gazed at the quaint and ancient furniture, 
the prim, snowy curtains, and finally, at Aunt Hes- 
ter herself. She seemed, somehow, oddly in keep- 
ing with the apartment. With a bewildered sense of 
being in the midst of a dream, he noticed that she 
wore the short, blue skirt, the spotless white waist 
with full, puSed sleeves, the trim velvet bodice, and 
even the picturesque cap which he had observed on 
the women as he drove through the streets. His 


Morris in Bergen. 


141 


thoughts went back to the last time he had seen her 
in the beautiful Elm Ridge home. He recalled 
her appearance perfectly, for it had suited well his 
fastidious taste in matters of ladies’ dress. He could 
see, as though it were here before him, the robe of 
richest silk, trailing its elegant length along the vel- 
vet carpet; the exquisite lace at the throat and 
wrists ; the coil of soft brown hair surmounted by an 
airy puff of the same delicate fabric ; the small hands, 
glittering with jewels ; the high-bred, aristocratic 
bearing of the figure; the gentle courtesy ‘of 
manner. 

In a few seconds, during which all these impres- 
sions had been made upon the highly sensitive plate 
of his brain-camera, Tina and Trudahad come run- 
ning in, and his mA^stification was complete, for he 
heard them address her as ‘‘ mother.” 

She spoke to them in a low tone, and they took 
Ola and disappeared, giving many curious looks at 
the stranger. Then she turned to Morris, laughing 
in spite of herself at his blank face. 

“You poor fellow!” she said affectionately, “it 
all seems queer enough to you, and I do not wonder 
at it. I’m afraid, too, that you will be sadly disap- 
pointed to know that Satia is not here. She ’ has 
been in Switzerland for some time. Here is the key 
to her little home, just across there,’’ and she 


142 


Morris Jtiliaiis VViJe. 


showed him the cottage. “ Now, if you will go 
over and make yourself comfortable for a few min- 
utes, I will come and tell you all you want to hear, 
and I will look rather more like the Aunt Hester 
you have known. My husband,” she added blush- 
ing, likes to have me wear the Norwegian dress at 
home, sometimes.” , 

Morris, man of the world as he was, found him- 
self actually unable to say one word in reply. He 
took the key, as though in obedience to some resist- 
less spell, and walked away, wondering vaguely to 
what further magic transformations it would lead 
him. Was it really Aunt Hester he had seen? 
And did she tell him that Satia was not here ? Or 
was he under some weird, witch-like power? He 
could scarcely tell, as he made his way through the 
narrow entry to the outer door. Once in the cool, 
fresh air, the sunshine seemed to dispel the mists of 
unreality which had enveloped him. He breathe'd 
more freely, and was sure now that Aunt Hester 
had spoken of the tiny cottage as Satia’s home. 

Quickened by the thought, he hurried across the 
pleasant street and turned the key in the Jock. 
Once inside, he doubted no longer. He stood 
almost reverently in the little sitting-room and he 
saw everywhere her favorite pictures, books and all 
the various things she had gathered about her here 


Morris tn Bergen, 


143 


many of which were duplicates of those still in their 
far-away home. Much of her music was on the 
piano. As he turned the leaves, he fancied he could 
again hear the sweet voice which had so often 
delighted him. 

In her work-basket lay a forgotten glove, the 
half-finished translation of a Norwegian poem, and a 
note from her singing-master postponing a lesson. 
In everything he read of her — her tastes, her pleas- 
ures, her occupations. But, alas ! he found iu them 
all not one hint or shadow of a trace of either him- 
self or Maynard. Had she shut them out forever? 
He could not endure the thought, and quickly 
picked up a book of songs. Half a dozen loose 
sheets fell to the floor. Stooping to pick them up, 
he was confronted by Satia’s features. Eagerly he 
seized the papers and spread them out before him. 
They were some half-finished sketches of Elsa’s, and 
with them a couple of photographs which Satia had 
had taken about the time of Christine’s marriagr. 
Elsa had, with unerring exactness, caught and repro- 
duced the expression of the face she loved. Morris 
felt instinctively that this was so, and he saw, too, 
that the photographs were excellent in workman- 
ship and undoubtedly correct likenesses. 

He compared them with three which he carried 
with him. One of these was taken when he first 


144 


Morris jzLliaiis Wife. 

knew Satia, the second in Venice, and the third 
shortly after Maynard’s birth. They marked three 
distinct epochs in the girl’s life. The face which he 
now placed beside them showed that another and a 
longer step had been taken along the highway of her 
life. He saw now a maturity of character, a stead- 
fastness of purpose, which the others did not reveal. 
This woman might be led ; she could never again 
be driven. And her husband wondered whether the 
guiding lines would ever again be within his grasp. 
He doubted it. He saw, too late, his mistake. 
With all his boasted and real skill in reading human 
nature, and that of womankind especially, he had 
failed utterly to understand this, the one most dear 
to him. But if it were not for him to win back the 
treasure he had lost, might it not be restored to him 
through the little child for whom he believed that 
she was already, in her secret heart, longing? He 
fancied that he detected in the haunting beauty of 
the great, dark eyes a yearning for the only thing 
which can satisfy the mother-nature — a craving for 
the little face, the tiny hands, the loving caresses of 
the baby which has lain in her bosom. Morris 
knew that however this strong instinct of a 
womanly woman like Satia might have been stifled, 
that, once free from the restraint imposed by his all- 
absorbing and selfish, even though sincere, passion, 


Morris in Bcrgeit. 


145 


it must necessarily assert itself. In this certainty 
lay his only hope. To see her again ; to bring Mayn- 
ard once more to her arms; this was his plan, the 
object of his living. 

He was aroused from his musings by the opening 
of the door. Looking up, he saw Aunt Hester enter- 
ing the room. She was again the lady of abundant 
means and leisure, but his eye was quick to see that, 
with her unaccustomed attire, she had not lain aside 
the quietly contented and happy expression which 
had so strongly impressed him an hour before. 

“ Now, Morris,” she said, brightly, as he stepped 
toward her, “ come sit down by me and I will talk 
to you for an hour. Then you must go over and 
have some dinner and meet my husband and our lit- 
tle ones.” 

He smiled with a somewhat quizzical look in his 
handsome eyes, as he placed her chair and seated 
himself. 

“ This is a hurrying age, it seems. Aunt Hester,” 
he said. 

Mrs. Nissen colored, but she laughed, too, as she 
replied very frankly : 

“ It does seem so, I suppose. And it really is not\ 
a long time from October to June. I might truth- 
fully say, and to you I will say it, from October to 
April ; for in less th-an that time I met and learned 


MonHs Julians Wife. 


146 


to know and discovered that I loved my husband. 
You are, of course, surprised, as Satia was, as every, 
body naturally would be, and as no one could pos- 
sibly be more than I myself am, to see that I am 
perfectly happy and satisfied in this home and with 
this life. I never dreamed, in the old days, that 1 
needed all these children to fill my heart completely 
full; but it is so. Dear as my husband is to me, and 
as entirely as he realizes my ideal of all a life-com- 
panion should be, I could not spare one of these 
dear little ones, which already seem like my very 
own.” 

Morris regarded her earnestly.. This woman, 
whom he had always thought rather narrow in her 
capabilities, had reached that high plane of living, 
where the truest, holiest love consists in giving, not 
receiving; while his wife was wandering who knew 
where in search of a happiness which did not include 
him, and lavishing her fondest care upon a stranger 
maiden. The dark shadow of sadness, which had 
lifted for a little while, settled down on his face 
again. 

He reached over and took up the glove which lay 
in Satia’s work-basket, softly stretching the yielding 
fingers and holding them gently between his palms, 
as though the hand which it had encased could still 
feel the loving pressure. Aunt Hester saw the 


1.47 


Morris in Bergen. 


motion, and her kind heart prompted her to wait no 
longer for him to ask of Satia. She told him of all 
the details of her daily life — the singing lessons, the 
instruction in the Norwegian language, the walks, 
the rides, the trip to Switzerland. 

“ And you do not know where she is now T he 
asked, when she had finished. 

“ Not exactly, Morris, as you will see by this 
letter, the last one I have received. You will see 
that she speaks of making a change, so that the 
drawing-lessons may be resumed.” 

He almost snatched the sheet from her hands, and 
his heart beat quickly as he devoured the closely 
written pages. They contained chiefly a bright, 
interesting description of their life in Lucerne. 
One sentence only had a deeper significance for 
him : 

Oh, auntie, it is so lovely to be here, with only 
this dear child, who helps and does not hinder 
me!” 

Hinder ber ! That was what he had done. By 
ruthlessly forcing the delicate petals of the bud, he 
had hindered the perfect opening of the flower. 

He crushed the glove within his hand. At length 
he said : 

Thank you for all you have done for her ; and 


148 


Morris J ulians JVife, 


for me, too, in telling me all this. I cannot speak of 
it further. To-morrow morning 1 must start for 
London.” 

^ 

CHAPTER XIV. 

A BUNCH OF ROSES. 

Elsa was walking, one pleasant July morning 
across the bridge of Mont Blanc at Geneva. The 
air blew fresh and cool from the lake, and the danc- 
ing waters sparkled in the sunshine. The girl 
stepped quickly, exhilarated by the scene around 
her and a sense of renewed health ; also by the 
remembrance of the successful completion of her 
last drawing. 

It had been finished but an hour before, and Satia 
had sent her out for a bit of exercise before going to 
her regular lesson. This bridge was a favorite spot 
with Elsa, and she often crossed it. She stopped 
now as she came opposite the little island. She 
knew nothing of the strange and gifted man whose 
name it bears, but she always liked to stand a 
moment and look at the solitary statue, with- its row 
of tall, stately Lombardy poplars, guardians, appar- 
ently, of the figure sitting so silent beneath them ; 


A Bunch of Roses, 


149 


at the quaint landing-steps and the luxuriant verdure 
of the tiny place. 

Pardon me, mademoiselle, but are these not your 
flowers ?” 

She turned quickly, and saw the bunch of blossoms 
she had bought for Satia scattered at her feet and 
blowing along the bridge. A gentleman was pick- 
ing them up. In thinking of her sketch s\ie had quite 
forgotten them. She uttered an exclamation of 
dismay, and began speaking rapidly in Norwegian. 
Then, suddenly recollecting where she was, she 
said, blushing deeply as she took the now gathered 
flowers from the hand of their rescuer: 

“ I thank you much. I wass very careless.” 

Morris raised his hat. He had suspected for some 
moments that his surmise was correct, and that the 
girl he had been following was the maiden Satia 
loved so well. Something in her bearing — a certain 
freedom of movement and erectness of carriage — 
had struck him when he first observed her. He had 
at that moment, just emerged from his hotel, and 
his thoughts were naturally occupied with the per- 
sons he had come to find. As his eyes fell upon 
Elsa, he felt sure that she was no Southern-born 
child of sunny skies, but a true daughter of the 
Northern land. Although so much more slender and 
dainty of mould, she reminded him of Christine, 


Morris Jidiaiis Wife, 


150 

whom he had studied closely during she hour she 
spent with him at her father’s house. He foresaw 
then that there might be difficulties in his way, and 
he had forearmed himself as fully as possible. So 
now, as he walked near the sister in Geneva, he was 
able to compare her, point by point, with her sister 
in Bergen. 

The dropping of the flowers seemed to him most 
opportune, for he wished much to acquaint himself 
somewhat with Satia’s surroundings before present- 
ing himself to her. 

As Elsa spoke her few words of thanks she started 
on, and Morris stepped immediately beside her, 
grateful that she had added to them the still newer 
ones of self-accusation ; for it made it quite natural 
for him to say in the most friendly, pleasant way 
imaginable : 

“ Oh, no ; not careless, but only thinking of some- 
thing else — your Norway home, perhaps.” 

Elsa at first looked up in surprise that he should 
again address her. She drew herself up somewhat 
haughtily. But no woman could long remain 
haughty when Morris Julian chose to envelop her 
in the sunshine of his glance. It was more than a 
glance, a look, full, eager, melting, respectful — aye, 
almost reverential ; for so this most complex, con- 
tradictorily-natured man truly felt in the presence 


A Bu7ich of Roses, 


151 


of all womankind. Elsa, child as she was, felt the 
influence of this half-laughing, compelling regard. 
In spite of herself she smiled, just the very least lit- 
tle bit, as she heard his transparent excuse for her 
negligence; but her whole soul flashed forth in- 
stantly from her beautiful blue eyes as he spoke the 
word “ Norway.” The man was charmed, and at the 
same time his lip curled in something very like con- 
tempt. How easy it wajs to play upon this wonder- 
ful instrument of the human soul — to produce just 
the effect he chose ! Surely, all women were alike, 
from icy steppes to torrid plain. All but one, alas ! 

He answered the girl’s unspoken question before 
she had time to frame it in words. 

“ If I mistake not. Miss Elsa, I dined at your 
father’s house in Bergen two weeks ago. I am 
quite sure that you have a sister Tina.” 

Her heart throbbed violently ; the color came and 
went in her cheeks; a mist clouded her eyes. “ A 
sister Tina!” How the words brought before her 
with a rush, a vision of the dear, distant home and all 
the loved faces which must have gathered around the 
board when this stranger sat there, only two short 
weeks ago! Was he, indeed, a stranger? She stole 
another glance at the kindly, smiling face. It seemed 
as though she must have known him always. She 
hesitated no longer, but asked the questions which 


Morris j2Uian's Wife. 


^52 


rushed to her lips as frankly and gladly as she would 
have done of Ole. 

Morris answered them as well as he could and as 
patiently. Then it was his turn, and he skillfully 
discovered all that he wished to know of her life 
with “ Madame;” at last he ventured to add that he 
was an old friend of hers, and had been much disap- 
pointed at not seeing her in Bergen. 

“'How very good it iss, then, that you happened 
to come here !” she exclaimed, raising her clear, 
truthful, eyes to his. 

“ I fear,” he returned, gently, “ that you are for- 
getting your flowers again and holding them too 
closely. See, they are drooping. Let us go to the 
florist’s just yonder, and get another bunch. Then, 
perhaps, you will take me to Madame Julian.” 

“ Oh, thank you. They were for her. Yes, it iss 
time that, I wass at home long ago.” 

They entered the florist’s shop, and Elsa looked 
on in amazement as he ordered a beautiful basket of 
rare, exquisite blossoms to be made up and sent to 
the address she gave. He selected a handful of the 
most lovely rosebuds, and gave them to Elsa. 

“ Come,” he said. 

Now that he was near enough to Satia to be buy- 
ing her flowers, as he had done before in this very 


A Bunch of Roses, 


153 


place, he could scarcely restrain his impatience to be 
with her. 

They walked rapidly, and very soon Elsa said : 

We live here. Will you please to sit down in 
the parlor while I tell madame that you are here ?” 

She led the way and took from his hand the folded 
paper he extended, 

“ This will tell her who I am,” he said, smiling ; 

and do not forget that it was I who have made 
you so late.” 

Elsa smiled briglitly in return, and flew up the 
long flight of steps as though she had wings. She 
entered their little sitting-room so much more 
quickly than usual that Satia, wdio was singing, 
looked around in surprise. 

The hungry-hearted man below heard the well- 
known tones as the door was opened. He sprang 
to his feet, and found himself hastening towards the 
stairway, before he was conscious of having risen. 
“ But she is mine,” he said to himself, as he slowly 
made his way back to the farthest corner of the 
room ; “ 1 have a right to go.” He knew, however, 
that this was not true, and he shut his teeth hard. 
The moments seemed cruelly long. 

Satia looked in astonishment at the girl’s flushed 
cheeks and shining eyes, also at the rosebuds in 
her hand. What made her think of bunches just 


154 


Morris Julians Wife, 


like this that had been brought to her before here 
in Geneva? What made her feel faint with appre- 
hension even before Elsa began her wondrous 
tale? 

Oh, madame,” she cried, throwing off her hat, 
and bringing the roses to Satia, “ you can never 
believe ! 1 have seen a friend of yours from Amer- 

ica.^ He iss — oh, I do not know his name — but he 
wass in Bergen — at our dear home, madame — only 
think — just the week before the last one ! He wass 
so kind /to tell me of every one of the dear people, 
and he said to give you thiss, madame. He wass so 
sorry not to see you there. He gave me these 
roses for you, and there is coming a basket, 
which — ” 

But she did not finish. There was a sudden ter- 
ror in her brown eyes, a pallor on the beautiful face, 
an involuntary shrinking and a hurried, furtive 
glance at the door. Satia stood a moment irresolute, 
still clasping the bit of paper. 

“ Elsa, dear child,” she said, in low, hurried tones, 
‘‘please go to your sleeping-room and stay there 
until I call you. It will be but a few minutes.” 

Elsa hesitated almost imperceptibly. 

“ Go, Elsa, if you love me.” 

As soon as she had left the room, Satia turned the 


A Btmch of Roses. 


155 


key in the lock. She then read the line hastily 
written on the folded card : 

“ Satia, I was wrong. Let me atone. 

Morris.” 

Trembling in every limb, she seized a pencil and 
wrote beneath, these words : 

“ I cannot now, nor ever again, see you. 

“ Satia.” 

She put the card into an envelope, sealed and 
addressed it, then rang for a servant and bade him 
take it to the gentleman in the parlor. 

Locking the door again, she waited breathlessly. 
One minute passed — two — five ; steps approached ; 
some one knocked. 

“ How perfectly childish I am,” she said, laugh- 
ing hysterically. “ Morris is a gentleman ; he will 
not force himself upon me. I did not know that I 
could be so nervous.” 

Still trembling, she opened the door, half dread- 
ing, half hoping to be once more face to face with 
Morris Julian. 



CHAPTER XV. 

A PLEASANT WINTER. 

As Satia opened the door she i*eceived an envel- 
ope from the servant. Opening it she found this 
message : 

“Whenever you will, Satia, my heart and my 
home are open to you. They never were and never 
can be to anyone else. Until you wish it, 1 will 
not try to see you again. A word to our New 
York address will reach me wherever I am. Do 
not forget that I am still your husband, your legal 
protector and your devoted lover, 

“ Morris Julian.” 

Satia was startled to find that her eyes filled with 
tears as she read, that her heart was touched by the 
gentle, loving, reproachless words. She read, too, 
between the lines, and she knew how much they 
meant — the written and the unwritten words — to 
the man^ who wrote them. For one swift, fleeting 
[156] 


* A Pleasant . Winter, 


157 


instant, she felt impelled to fly to him, to comfort 
him, to gladden him as she knew that she alone 
could do. But with the impulse came a vivid mem- 
ory of the silent, absolute dominion which this same 
man had exercised over her life. Could she go 
back to it again? Would it be possible for him ever 
to “ atone ?” She started to her feet and threw 
wide open all the windows in the room. She drew 
long, deep breaths of the pure, sweet air. Her lips 
closed firmly and the soft light, which had for a 
moment kindled in her eyes, died away. 

“Never!” she said. “We can neither of us 
change our natures. Never 1 It cannot be !” 

When Morris had read and replied to Satia’s 
message, he sat as if changed to stone. Time 
passed unheeded. At length he became conscious 
that the' servant, had .returned and stood near. He 
raised his head. 

“You are ill, sir!” exclaimed the man, quickly. 
“ Let me bring you something.” 

“ No; it is nothing,” murmured Morris. “ There 
is no answer ?” 

“ None, sir.” 

He looked vaguely around ; then taking his hat, 
he left the house. 

He went directly to the telegraph office, and 
cabled to Mary Fielding : 


158 


Morris Juliari s IVifes 


“ Send Maynard, with Kelsie, to Liverpool by the 
first Cunarder. I will meet them there. 

“ Morris Julian.” 

The next morning, ^hile Elsa was gone to her 
drawing master, Satia again considered the exciting 
events of the previous day. 

The whirl and shock and excitement produced by 
Morris’ most unexpected appearance, and their 
attendant reaction, had, in a measure, passed away, 
and she was better able to think of her situation. 

That her husband might follow her, she had at 
first thought to be possible, though not probable : 
for she knew how very high and strict his notions 
of wifely loyalty were, and she believed that the 
step she had voluntarily taken could never be for- 
given. And as the weeks and months slipped by 
one by one, she became finally convinced that he 
had ceased to care for her. Now, as she sat with 
his flowers before her, their fragrance and beauty 
bore mute testimony to his continued affection — 
testimony which was corroborated by the few pen- 
ciled lines, which she had not destroyed. They 
seemed, indeed, to exercise a strange fascination for 
her. She read them over and over, until they 
seemed to be ever before her eyes. At last, annoyed, 
she locked them away in her desk, determined to 
forget them, once for all. Her eyes were drawn 


A Pleasant Winter. 


159 


irresistibly toward a fine photograph of the Sistine 
Madonna on the mantel. They met those of the 
beautiful, serene mother, large and calm, gazing 
down at her with wondering reproach. The perfume 
of the flowers made the air heavy and difficult to 
breathe. The words, “ Your husband, your legal 
protector, 3 ^our devoted lover,” rang in her ears. 

She presently sought her never-failing refuge, the 
open air. She walked long and rapidly, and when 
she returned her rebellious thoughts were under con- 
trol and she had reached several conclusions. 

One of these concerned Elsa, and she lost no time 
in making it known to her. When they came up 
from dinner, the photograph, the glass of roses and 
the basket of flowers had been removed. 

“ Come, Elsa dear,” said Satia ; “ before we go 
driving to-day, 1 want to have a little talk with you. 
First, though, let me take a good look at you, to see 
how well you are.” 

Elsa, laughing, came and stood in front of her, 
with her hands demurely folded. Satia regarded 
her closely. She tried to compare her with the 
girl who had bade her welcome to Bergen not four 
months ago. The result amazed her. Elsa was just 
at the age when development takes place most 
rapidly under favorable conditions, and the change 
of climate from Norway to Switzerland had been 


6o 


Morris Julians Wife. 


made at exactly the right time for her. From a 
slender slip of a girl, shy and child-like, she had 
grown into a tall, graceful maiden, self-possessed 
and womanly. She was in excellent health, too, 
and in just the frame of mind and body to thoroughly 
enjoy her new life. 

All of these things Satia noted in her critical sur- 
vey. 

“ That will do, 'n^ignonnei' she said, smiling, as she 
drew the girl beside her. “Now, listen to me, Elsa. 
I want you to understand perfectly what I am 
about to say. You are almost a woman now, you 
know, and must begin to be wise.” 

“Yes, madame,” replied the girl, gravely. “I 
shall be sixteen in September.’’ 

“ So old as that ?” laughed Satia, patting the 
round cheek. “Well, then, it is high time that this 
small head is getting packed with knowledge. How 
much have you ever been to school, Elsa?” 

“All my life, until last winter, when Tina went 
away. I could not bear to go then,” she answered, 
promptly. Satia looked rather surprised. 

“So?” she said. “Ah, yes; I remember now. 
You Norwegians believe in newspapers and schools 
just as energetically as you do in churches. And 
that is what makes you such brave, lovely people, 
too. Well, my dear, in all these years of your 


ONE NAME WAS SATI I^Oge 184 



I 






A Pleasant Winter, 


i6i 


going to school, have you learned French histor}' ? 
For instance, can you tell me what important event 
occurred in the reign of Charles VII.?” 

Elsa blushed and shook her head. She cast down 
her eyes in embarrassment, and did not see Satia’s 
laughing glance. 

“ Fm only funning, dear; do not mind 'my teas- 
ing. I don’t know much about French history 
myself, and I’ve been thinking that it would be 
pleasant for us to study it together. And we won’t 
have just the dry old books to study from, but the 
whole country of France itself. When we read of a 
place where any great or interesting event happened, 
or where any important person lived, we’ll get on a 
train or into a diligence, and go there and explore 
and poke about for ourselves. How would you like 
that?” 

Elsa’s eyes were sparkling now. No need of 
words to answer for her. 

“ But, Elsa, this will take a good while — all the 
fall and winter, maybe. Are you willing to stay 
away from home so long? To be my own girl all 
that time? My plan is to make a little journey 
through Switzerland now. I want you to see it 
when it is at its prettiest. Then, say in September, 
we will go to Paris and make ourselves there a 
pleasant home, where our singing and drawing 


i 62 


Morris Julian'' s Wife, 


lessons can go on, with some in French, too, and to 
which we can return after our various trips in the 
pursuit of historical knowledge. I shall enjoy this 
very greatly, Elsa, and I think you would, too. 
Now, I want you to think it all over very carefully, 
and let me know your decision. Take a day or two 
to consider well ; for, you know, it will be a long 
time to wait until next spring before seeing the dear 
home people.” 

Elsa was more grave than usual for some days 
after this conversation. Satia, awaited her conclu- 
sion in the matter with a good deal of secret anxiety. 
Although so yielding and gentle as a general thing, 
Elsa possessed a quiet strength of character quite 
remarkable in one so young, and Satia believed her 
capable of putting aside all the attractions of the 
winter of travel and study if she thought it her duty 
to do so. Satia herself had set her heart upon the 
project, so it was with great satisfaction that she 
heard Elsa say : 

“ I will stay with you, dear madame, and thank 
you with all my heart. I am always happy to be 
with you,” and she gave Satia one of her sweet, shy 
looks ; “and I know it will be much for my good. 
At first, it seemed selfish for me to stay so long, but 
the kind Mother Hester iss there to care for all at 
my home, and Tina does not need me now ; so — ” 


A Pleasant Whiter, 


163 


So you will be my dear comforter !” cried Satia, 
interrupting- her and clasping her in her arms. 
‘‘They do not need you now, truly, and I — oh, 1 
do !” A sob choked her voice for a moment. She 
pressed her lips to the girl’s soft cheek. “ You do 
not know Jiow happy you have made me, Elsa,” she 
said. “ And now I’m going to write directly to 
your father for permission to keep you, and I feel 
quite sure that he will not refuse it ; so we can begin 
at once to plan out our route through this lovely 
mountain-land.” 

The letter was written, and a dozen guide-books 
procured. Satia set herself about this pleasant task 
with characteristic energy. At every step she was 
reminded of the days when she and Morris had 
amused themselves in just this same way. She was 
reminded, too,, by Elsa’s eager delight, as the pros- 
pective weeks of enjoyment and novelty spread 
themselves before her, of her own girlish enthu- 
siasm. She found herself unconsciously imitating 
her husband’s thoughtfulness, his careful provision 
for every possible need. 

It was not many days until the expected letter 
came. It not only gave the hoped-for consent, but 
hearty approval of the plan. Aunt Hester alluded 
to it at the end of her share of the epistle: 


164 


Morins Julians Wife, 


“ I quite envy you, too. 1 shouldn’t be one bit 
surprised if, when you get to Rouen or Chartres, or 
some of those other lovely places, you would find 
me and Papa Lars, and Jan and Lars, and Henrik 
and Tula, and Truda and Baby Ola, and the big 
black cat and her seven little kittens, all sitting in a 
row on the cathedral steps, trying to improve our 
minds, too !” 

“ Now,” said Satia, when they had laughed over 
this and enjoyed the whole newsy, entertaining 
budget, “ now, Elsa darling, you belong to me for 
six long months, at least. And I’m not going to be 
‘ madame ’ to you any longer. I am really not 
madame at all. Marie and Madeleine began calling 
me so, and Christine took it up. My name is Satia 
Julian, and I want you to call me ‘ Satia,’ please, just 
as though you were truly my own real little sister. 
Will you not?” 

Elsa hesitated. It seemed too long a step for her 
to take ; too wonderful a thing to be so near as sister 
to the friend who had made her life so beautiful, 
whom she loved with so full and grateful a heart. 

“ If you will let me, please, may I not say — is it 
not ‘ cousin ’ that you call it, when one is more than 
friend and not quite sister ? I think * Cousin Satia ’ 
is a sweet name.” 

“ So it is,” replied Satia, divining her thought and 
touched by her humility. “Then I am ‘Cousin 


A Pleasant Whiter, 


165 


Satia’ in future, and 1 will try to be a very kind and 
loving one.” 

The tour of Switzerland occupied the entire month 
of August, and was most delightful. Then came 
the pleasant task of choosing a home in Paris and 
fitting it up for several months of living in it. It 
was the last of September before they were fairly 
settled and had had enough sight-seeing to be ready 
to get to work. Teachers were then engaged, and 
the days until Christmas were full to overflowing. 
Then came a rest from these labors, and the first of 
the history trips was taken. The royal chateau of 
Amboise was selected as the objective point and 
several days spent in reviewing beneath its walls 
the tragic events which they had witnessed from the 
time when Csesar’s Roman legions found lodgment 
there to the Huguenot massacres which Catherine 
de Medicis overlooked from the neighboring bal- 
conies. In strong contrast to this blood-stained 
fortress was another chateau, royal and beautiful, 
which they visited at this time. At Chenonceaux 
they found only gentle, smiling memories — only 
pictures of grace and leisure and gallantry ; for this 
enchanting spot was devoted to the sports and to 
the happy days of French royalty. Elsa was both 
bright and appreciative, and Satia found the task of 
directing her studies more pleasant than she had 


1 66 Morris Jtdia^is Wife, 

anticipated. Especially did they both enjoy this 
novel method of learning history. The first “ object 
lesson ” proved so satisfactory that a second was 
determined on for the last of January. They were 
made very happy about this time by Elsa’s bearing 
off the highest honors at an exhibition of drawings 
from casts given by her class. Satia declared that a 
couple of weeks at Nice, stopping at intermediate 
points as they liked, should be her reward for this. 
They had scarcely arrived at the charming summer 
resort, when a letter came from Norway which upset 
all their arrangements in a twinkling, and gave Satia, 
in particular, the deepest disappointment. It was 
from Aunt Hester. 

. . . . “ And now, my dear Satia, I have some 

great news for you. Nothing else than that we, the 
entire Nissen family, are preparing to leave Bergen 
for America in April. We have been talking of it 
for the last two or three weeks, and now it is posi- 
tively decided. You know that Lars has given over 
all his shipping interests here to Eric. 

“ He thinks, and so do I, that he has followed the 
sea long enough. And we feel that the children 
can be educated so much more satisfactorily in the 
United States than here in Bergen, although there 
are good schools here. 

“I want,- if possible, to rent the Stanley place, 
next to our Elm Ridge home, you remember, for the 
present. As soon as suitable we shall build. 


A Pteasa^it Whiter. 


167 


‘‘ Of course, this means that Elsa must come home 
before long. 1 know that you will be grievously 
disappointed, dear, for I can see that you have set 
your heart on keeping her for some time to come. 
And if we remained here, I think her father would 
be willing enough ; but he will not listen a moment 
to leaving her on this side. It is almost more than 
he can do to leave Christine. So prepare to bring 
her home in three or four weeks. 

“ I wish it were possible to induce you to go with 
us, dear. I feel sure that you will never be truly 
happy until you have returned to the home you 
have left. Forgive me if I have wounded you. I 
could not help saying it, Satia.” .... 

The letter dropped from her hands, and she 
bowed her head upon them. Deep down in her 
very secret self, she knew those words to be true, 
and that wherever she might turn she could not 
escape them. But she struggled hard to keep them 
down — should she surrender ? 



i 

• 4 -: 

% 


t- 

% 


CHAPTER XVI. 

IN THE EDINBURGH GALLERY. 


< 

i 

i 

.i 


Since assuming the charge of Elsa's education, r 
Satia had, in a measure, succeeded in tranquilizing j 
herself, but now how had her hopes come crashing J 
down! No more hours of sweet companionship ! | 
Instead, Elsa was to go a thousand leagues away, j 
across the Atlantic to Satia’s old home. Was there 
really nothing more in life for Satia ? Yes; she 
had a vision of a little yellow-haired lad, as loving, 
as bright as Elsa herself, as needy of instruction and 
care. One, too, who could never be taken from her 
clasping arms, because she had the first and highest 
claim upon him. It required more than her ordi- 
nary resolution to banish this small image. ‘ It 
clung to her; mutely it demanded her attention. 

At last, sorrowfully, slowly, it faded away, and she 
was tree to tell Elsa of the coming changes in their 
affairs. 

Elsa was disappointed at first; but the magic 
[1 68] 



In the Edinburgh Gallery, 


169 


word “America’’ had great charms for her, and 
Satia soon saw that she was anticipating the jour- 
ney. 

“ If you and Tina could only come, too ! Won’t 
you, Cousin Satia ? Nobody can love you better 
than we do. Please say yes.” 

“ Perhaps some day,” said Satia, looking some- 
what sadly into the bright, pleading face ; “ but not 
now. In the meantime, though, I shall expect to 
hear that you are getting on famously in our Ameri- 
can schools.” 

“ I will certainly try very hard. But I shall miss 
you^ — always.” 

She passed her hand over Satia’s soft, dark hair — 
a favorite caress — little dreaming of her loved 
friend’s aching, longing, heavy heart. 

It was during the first week of March that they 
set their faces northward. They went slowly, stop- 
ping in London and in half a dozen of the beautiful 
old English cathedral towns, as well as in Edin- 
burgh, for a few days each. While in the latter 
city, they went one morning to the studio of a cele- 
brated artist, where a number of fine paintings were 
on exhibition. Satia was always careful to give 
Elsa every advantage of this kind, and was herself 
fast acquiring a genuine love for pictures, as well as 
considerable skill as a critic. She was enjoying a 


Morris JiUiaris Wife. 


\ 70 


marine view, the gem of the collection, when Elsa, 
who had been wandering about, came quickly to 
her and said, while at the same time she drew 
her toward a large easel : 

“ Oh, Cousin Satia, do come and see this lovely 
boy — his portrait, I mean. Isn’t he the dearest little 
fellow ? And his eyes are exactly like yours.” 

Satia, smiling at the young girl’s enthusiasm, 
looked up. And what did she see on the canvas 
before her ? The features of her own son ! 

They were older than when she saw them last, 
and more clearly cut, but they belonged to none 
other than Maynard Julian. 

Faint and giddy, she sank upon a chair behind her. 
As in a dream, she heard herself speak to Elsa a 
word or two of admiration, then say that she was tired 
and would rest awhile, bidding her make the round 
of the studio alone. Then, with her hungry gaze 
fixed upon the dimpled, beautiful face of her boy, 
she first tasted the true bitterness of her self- 
imposed exile. Why had she left him ? What spirit 
of evil prompted her? She was unable to answer 
these and a hundred other questions which 
rushed through her brain. Soon she was recalled 
to her surroundings by hearing some one say : 

“ He is indeed, a fine child, madame, the young 
laird of Glen Cairlie, His father, the wealthy Mr. 


hi the Edinburgh Gallery. 


171 


Julian of America, of whom you have doubtless 
heard, has just become, by the death of a distant 
relative of his mother, the head of the family here. 
’Tis a good old one, and a fine, though somewhat 
neglected, estate.” 

“ Will Mr. Julian live at the castle?” was asked. 

“ That I cannot tell you. He came a couple of 
weeks ago, and brought his son to me to have his 
portrait painted for the picture-gallery there ; and a 
fine addition it would be to any collection.” 

“ I’ve heard that Mr. Julian is a widower — that is, 
his wife has left him ; but I don’t see how she could 
give up such a child.” 

“ Oh, she was very gay,” said another, voice, in a • 
lower tone, quite near Satia. “ He kept her almost 
in seclusion, for she is a great beauty, and he the 
most jealous man alive. But at last she rebelled, 
and there was a dreadful scene, I’ve been told, and 
one day she just packed up and went off, without 
even sa3dng good-bye.” 

“Did she go alone?” some one else asked, still 
more softly. 

“ Oh, yes, of course ; but everybody knows that 
Jack Francis sailed on the very next steamer, and — ” 

“ Why, the Rochester was burned, and Mrs. Julian 
was among the lost. I remember seeing her name 
in the list ; don’t you, Maud ?” 


72 


Morris Julian's Wife, 


It was so reported ; but she was really rescued 
by some steamer and carried to Brazil or somewhere, 
and got around to Geneva after awhile. My sister- 
in-law saw her there last summer ; but, of course, 
she did not make herself known. I suppose that 

Jack Oh, there is Mr. Grant, one of our New 

York artists. I must introduce him to Mr. Ogilvie.” 

The party moved on, and poor Satia sat dazed, 
stung, overwhelmed. 

But she saw the next comers staring strangely at 
her ; and after one long, devouring look at the little 
fellow in his Highland dress, she sought Elsa, and 
they left the place. 

Happily for her they had arranged to leave Edin- 
burgh the next morning for Stirling and the Tros- 
sach. She kept herself constantly occupied with the 
sightseeing and the showing of all points of interest 
to Elsa; and it was not until on the little steamer 
crossing Loch Lomond that her trouble was allowed 
to come uppermost. Elsa was chatting with some 
young girls whose acquaintance she had made the 
day before. Satia sat motionless, her hands clasped 
tightly, her eyes fixed on the opposite shore, but 
they did not see the lovely pictures which were 
brought before them at every turn ; they were full 
of horror and an unutterable longing to get faraway 
beyond sight and sound of every human being. 


In the Edinburgh Gallery, 


173 


A lady, seated in a large wicker-chair at only a 
short distance, had been observing her closely for 
some time- — a lady whose fine, high-bred face, from 
which the snowy hair was brushed plainly back, 
bore the- stamp of a sweet, kindly nature. She 
turned at last and looked around toward a gentle- 
man who, at that moment, started to approach her 
from the opposite side of the steamer. 

Here we are, mother,” he said, as he came quite 
near. “Are you ready? Wedl be at Tarbet land- 
ing in five minutes.” 

“ Yes, Kenneth. 1 was justVishing for you. I’m 
as sure as I can be that the bonnie, sad-eyed lassie 
I’ve been looking at for these fifteen minutes can be 
none other than the child of my dear old friend, 
Jeanie Sutherland. Look, my son; she sits yonder 
by the guard. Now, while Sandy is taking my 
chair and Margie looks after the bags, give me your 
arm and I’ll just speak a word to her.” 

Kenneth Cameron barely glanced at Satia. He 
obediently assisted his mother to rise, and they 
made their way slowly across the deck. The little 
steamer was almost at the landing, and everybody 
rushed to the opposite side, leaving them compara- 
tively alone. Not until she felt a light touch on her 
arm did Satia stir. She looked up quickly, then 


174 


Morris Julians Wife, 


full into a pair of large, beautifully luminous eyes, 
fixed searcliingly upon her own. 

“ You’ll pardon an old woman ; but, my dear, 
was your mother not Jeanie Sutherland ?” she heard 
a gentle voice saying. 

Her mother 1 Satia was on her feet instantly, 
and felt her hands clasped closely. 

“ I knew it — I was sure !” the delighted lady 
exclaimed. “ And you must be the little Satia she 
used to write me oh How stupid of me not to have 
spoken to you before ! Now, we are going to get 
off here at Tarbet Inn. But 1 must see more of you. 
Where can I address you ? Yes, Kenneth ; I am 
coming now.” 

It was the work of but a moment for Satia to give 
her Bergen address. Then she felt a soft kiss on 
her forehead, and saw the two making their way off 
the steamer. She had been vaguely conscious that 
the gentleman had lifted his hat on approaching and 
held it in his hand while his mother spoke with her; 
that the low, quiet tones of the lady had fallen 
soothingly upon her distracted spirit ; but she 
needed, after all, to take up and to read the cards 
which she found on her lap to fully convince her- 
self that the interview was not a fancy. 


In the Edinburgh Gallery, 


i75 


Alisan Cameron 

Dunnoch Crags. 


: Kenneth Cameron, M. D. : 

: Erlallach. I 

^ St. Luke's Children s Hospital. \ 

was what she saw upon the pasteboard cards. And 
“ Alisan Cameron ” was her mother’s friend, far 
back in her girlhood’s days. Satia could imagine, 
from the little she remembered of her mother, 
what a lovely, gentle girl she must have been. She 
was a lovely, gentle mother, too — not faithless like 
her daughter, she thought, with a keen pang of 
self-condemnation. 

The Highland trip was over at last, enjoyed 
beyond expression by Elsa ; endured as best she 
was able by Satia, whose one desire now was to get 
away, up to the wide, still mountain pastures of 
which she had dreamed in the spring. 

If I had gone there then, I might have been 
spared all this,” she said to herself. But she well 
knew that she had sown the seeds of her present 
misery when she left her baby’s cradle, and that. 


176 


Morris J it Ha n W if 


flee where she would, she could not have escaped 
the bitter harvest. 

They were fortunate in reaching Hull just in time 
for the Bergen steamer. The Domino was on the 
point of starting, and made the passage more 
quickly than usual. It was Christine this time who 
stood at the pier to welcome them. 

At first glance, she could hardly believe that the 
tall, stylish young lady beside Satia was really Elsa, 
the pale, languid girl whom she had kissed good- 
bye with so many forbodings. But one long look 
into the happy face told her that it was, indeed, her 
own precious little sister, the very same, in spite of 
added stature and Paris gown. 

She claimed her for every moment of the brief 
time remaining before the family started for 
America. Satia found Aunt Hester not so busy as 
she had anticipated ; for they were taking very few 
household articles. Nearly all was left for Eric and 
Erika, who were to be married in the summer and 
to come to live in the old home. 

Just before time for the very last “ good-byes,” 
Satia went to her auntie. She put her arms about 
her neck and laid her head in its old resting-place. 

“ Auntie,” she said, I want to thank you for your 
silence. 1 think there is not another woman in the 
whole world who could have kept from asking me 


In the Edmbiirgh Gallery. 


177 


whether or not I saw Morris. But your loving, 
silent sympathy has helped me to bear these heavy 
da)^s more than you will ever know, I hope. And I 
feel that it is right that I should tell you that he 
came to Geneva. But I did not see him. You are 
surprised ? And disappointed, too, I know. It is 
not given to every woman to have so happy and 
congenial a marriage as yours, auntie dear. I made 
many mistakes in my life with Morris, I am sure ; 
but 1 tried to please him so long as I could con- 
scientiously, and I thought I was right in leaving 
him.” 

She stopped, and Mrs. Nissen felt her tremble. 
She stroked the soft hair and said, gently : 

“ 1 am sorry, and disappointed, too, Satia, that 
you did not see Morris. I think that if you had 
done so, this most unhappy state of things between 
you would have been ended. He acknowledged to 
me his own short-comings, and is most anxious for 
a reconciliation.- Surely, my dear, if not for his 
sake, for Maynard’s — ” 

Satia stirred quickly, moaning as if in pain. 

“ Don’t speak of him — not now. I can’t bear it,’’ 
she said, imploringly. She raised her head and 
pushed her hair back from a face so wan and 
haggard that Aunt Hester was shocked at sight 
of it. 


178 


Morris Julians Wife, 


“ 1 didn’t mean to speak of it ; I cannot now. 
But, auntie, I saw his picture in Edinburgh, and I 
heard — oh, I heard dreadful things about myself— 
horrible !” she cried, shuddering ; and they will 
keep me forever from seeing him again. Oh, 
auntie, my heart will break ! Oh, my boy — my 
baby!” 

She walked the room in her misery, wringing her 
hands and groaning aloud. At last, exhausted, she 
threw herself, half-fainting, on a couch. Distressed 
and alarmed. Aunt Hester could only apply restora- 
tives. She could not find one word of comfort for 
the girl she loved and pitied so truly that would not 
seem to reproach her, too. But her tender, silent 
ministrations brought relief to the overstrained 
nerves, and gradually Satia grew calm. 

“ I am going to-morrow,” she said, after a time, 
to Erika’s home, and ask to go with Jenne to the 
Saeter. Away up there, in the pure, quiet fresh- 
ness of the mountain air, I shall rest and think out 
what to do with my poor, broken life. I am young 
and strong, and shall probably live many years. I 
have plenty of money, and I can, perhaps, be able to 
help somebody in some way. 1 do not know yet. 
I cannot think now.” 

She closed her eyes and lay quite still. Aunt 
Hester felt the tears falling upon her cheeks. To 


hi the Edinburgh Gallery. 1 79 

her, this calm, hopeless way of speaking of herself 
was infinitely sadder than her violent gyief. What- 
ever had happened in Edinburgh had evidently 
pierced her heart through and through. In this 
stricken, pallid woman there was scarcely a trace of 
the vigorous, rosy-hued Satia who had taken Elsa to 
Switzerland ten months before. Satia, herself, was 
surprised to find how weak and changed she was after 
this breaking over of the severe restraint she had 
imposed upon herself. She was glad that but a few 
hours remained during which she needed to assume 
a cheerfulness she was far from feeling. 

It was about sunset of a clear April day that she 
stood on the now familiar pier and watched the faces 
of the Nissen family slowly passing from her sight. 
So long as she could see the last flutter of Elsa’s 
handkerchief, she stood there, waving her own. 
Then, with a long, choking sob, she turned away. 



CHAPTER XVII. 

ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

When Erika met Satia at the post-statioij nearest 
her father’s farm, she exclaimed : 

“Oh, madameis ill! Last summer it was Elsa, 
but now yourself 1” 

“ And I’ve come to beg a corner of your high 
mountain dairy to get well in,” replied Satia. 

Erika, grown by this time to blooming woman- 
hood, laughed gladly, showing her pretty white 
teeth just as of old. 

“You do not, then, forget! Last year you said 
that some day you go there. Next week Jenne goes ' 
with the maids and the lads and the cattle. * She 
will willingly take you, too. I certain am.” 

Satia smiled then. She remembered that this odd, 
transposed phrase had been one of Erika’s favorite 
expressions when trying to learn English on board 
the Sea Gull. It reminded her also to speak of Eric. 

“ Thank you,” she said. “ I saw Eric the morn- 
[i8o] 


Above the Clouds, 


i8i 


ing I left, Erika. In fact, he put me on the train, 
and he bade me give his best love to you.” 

. Erika blushed, and asked shyly, while pretending 
to arrange the wagon-robe : 

“ And was he quite well, madame ?” 

“ Very well, Erika ; and so busy getting the 
home ready for you. I suppose you are busy, 
too ?” 

Thus encouraged, Erika chatted happily of her 
goodly stores and all the pretty work yet to be 
done. 

All this while they were slowly climbing up hills 
which grew constantly longer and steeper. Now 
and then they came to a stretch of road lying level 
along the valley, over which the stout horses 
trotted at full speed. Then another pull, and 
another, until the mountains seemed fairly closing 
in behind, beside, before them. They crossed rush- 
ing streams ; they caught sight of white, spray- 
vailed waterfalls ; they had glimpses of foaming 
cascades, dashing down over the rocks ; they drove 
beneath far-spreading branches of tall evergreen 
trees, somber and stately ; they went on and up 
until, at last, not far away to the left, the broad 
fields and the farm-building of the Nissen homestead 
were to be seen. 

Satia was pleasantly remembered there from her 


1 82 Morris JiUiaiis Wife. 

visit the year before, and she received a welcome 
whose hearty cordiality was grateful, indeed, to her. 
Even more than that of Lars Nissen and his chil-* 
dren and their Bergen friends, she enjoyed the 
simple, sincere hospitality of his brother’s mountain- 
bred family. But she longed to be away, farther 
yet above the dark ridges which bounded her pres- 
ent horizon. And she was glad when she mounted 
the stout cart, built for their rough, jolting journey, 
beside Jenne, who, as eldest daughter, true to the 
traditions of her country, was to take charge of the 
impatient cattle, already sniffing from afar the 
green, delicious fodder of their summer home. 

The herd this year was larger than usual, and 
several maids were taken besides the lads. It was 
a merr}^ chattering party that set off at daybreak 
for the long ride across the valley and up, up to the 
Saeter. They made their way slowl}^, but at length 
a white-capped peak burst upon their view, then 
another, and presently, far, far above them, they 
could discern the grassy stretch of their own moun- 
tain meadows. 

It was hours after this first glimpse that they 
reached the simply built cottages. 

Satia wandered just beyond sight and sound of 
the busy maids, and could easily fancy herself to be 
the only living being in the vast, solitary place. 


Above the Clouds, 


83 


Hour after hour and day after day she spent lying 
at full length upon the grass, letting herself be 
engulfed by the great waves of remorse, anguish 
and humiliation which rolled over her in a flood. 
Powerless, unresisting, she could not buffet them. 
The few but terribly significant words overheard in 
the Edinburgh gallery were ever before her in 
letters of fire, burning themselves into her innocent, 
grieved, indignant heart with scorching insistence. 
She knew them to be utterly false ; but she kne\V, 
too, that she had voluntarily placed herself where it 
was impossible to deny them. In the singleness of 
purpose with which she had left her husband — 
although she had thought, in a vague way, that 
gossip would come of it — she had not dreamed of 
the poisonous effect which the lightest word against 
a wife’s name must have. 

She writhed now in helpless agony beneath the 
breath of slander which had not failed to follow her ; 
which had interposed a forever impassable barrier 
between herself and the son in whom now her 
whole life was enwrapped. For, like Caesar’s wife, 
her boy’s mother must be “ above suspicion.” 

But there came an hour when the towering peaks, 
the frowning crags, the tree-crowned hills, the 
crystal waters, the smiling pastures, each sent their 
gift of peace to her troubled spirit; and from the 


184 


Morris Julian's Wife. 


very heart of Nature itself there fell upon her the 
noiseless benediction of perfect, golden stillness. 
She rested now, as a child might, upon the bosom 
of this blessed silence, she felt herself refreshed and 
strengthened by its mystery, its strange power. 

The depths of her suffering had been reached ; 
slowly she came back to the thoughts and interests 
of daily life ; she began to long for human compan- 
ionship. Until now, her meals, what little she had 
taken, had been prepared and served to her apart, 
by Jenne, quietly and with a gentle sympathy 
which Satia was quick to perceive and to appre- 
ciate. 

One morning she said': 

“ 1 am nearly well now, Jenne, and should like, if 
I may, to come out and make one at your long, jolly 
tableful." 

Jenne looked at the pale cheeks and thin hands a 
moment. She shook her head, although she smiled, 
too. 

“ Madame not look well at all, but she be wel- 
come." 

“ Thank you, Jenne. And now may I see where 
you are so busy all the day long ?" 

“ Yes, madame. Here." 

She led the way to the great, sweet-smelling 
room where the pails of foaming milk brought in 


Above tJie Clouds. 


185 


night and morning by the lads were transformed 
into dozens of rolls of fragrant, golden butter and 
piles of spicy cheeses. At long tables the big, 
round-armed dairy-maids, in spotless caps and 
aprons, stood chattering merrily in their strange 
sounding language, while they deftly manipulated 
the yellow balls and packed them snugly away to be 
taken down to the farmhouse by and by. 

In another part of the room was a row of tidy- 
looking churns and a great cheese press, and, on 
still another side, the table around which all the 
busy workers gathered for the three abundant 
meals^ which, it seemed to Satia, were no small part 
of the day’s labor to prepare. 

She wondered, as she watched the girls, and 
admired the skillful turn of wrist and arm by which 
they accomplished what they wished, whether she, 
too, could not make one of the pretty rolls. She 
begged to be allowed to try. But she found that 
the wooden paddles which appeared but toys in the 
strong, practiced hands of the buxom maids, and 
which yielded so readily to their wills, were sud- 
denly changed into big, obstinate sticks within her 
slender grasp, and refused to do anything except 
what she did not intend. After a few unsuccessful 
attempts which ended in sending the butter upon 
the table most disastrously, she gave the tantalizing 


Morris J iiliaiis Wife, 


1 86 


tools back to the amused Jenne, and put her hands 
behind her. 

This pantomime was perfectly understood by 
them all, and a merry laugh went round. 

Jenne took Satia’s fingers and spread them out on 
her own broad, firm palm. 

“ Too small, madame ; they not make butter. 
Write in book — with pen.” 

Jenne’s English was very limited, but she had given 
Satia something to think of. She went away from 
the dairy out to a favorite nook, turning over the 
Norwegian girl’s suggestion. Why should she not 
“ write in a book — with pen ?” Her native energy 
was reasserting itself, and this, combined with the 
restless desire for constant occupation, nearly always 
induced by great sorrow as a relief from its burden, 
made her anxious to be no longer idle. She had 
thought of many ways in which to employ herself, 
and in turn rejected each. Not until now had the 
resources of so many people of all estates and in all 
moods — authorship — occurred to her. 

Should she write? Could she? Might she not ? 
Perhaps the story of her life, simply, truthfully told, 
with all its mistakes and all its miseries, might keep 
some other girl from shipwreck on the rocks where 
her own ill-fated craft had gone down. 

The idea pleased her. Full of excitement, she 


Above the Clouds. 


187 


went at once for a book and pencil and paper. She 
hastily sketched an outline for her story, and begin- 
ning with her happy, care-free girlhood, she wrote 
rapidly until she had covered the few sheets of 
paper she had brought with her. As she turned the 
last, with an exclamation of impatience that it was 
the last, the book slipped from her lap. Stooping 
to pick it up from the grass, she saw that a card had 
dropped from it. She took this in her hand and 
read : 

: Kenneth Cameron, M. D. : 

Erlallach. : 

.* St. Luke's Children s Hospital. \ 

A children’s hospital! In such a place there 
must be nurses. Instantly there came an answer to 
her question. She saw her future life mapped out 
before her clearly and unmistakably. With a feel- 
ing akin to awe, she raised her eyes to the clear blue 
of the heavens above her. Had this message come 
straight to her from the all-wise, loving heart of the 
Great Creator, the tender Father, who had fash- 
ioned her life, together with all the wondrous beauty 
and grandeur spread out before her ? Had He, in 
the fullness of His compassion, opened before her 


i88 


Morris Julians Wife. 


this pathway, by walking humbly, faithfully, in which 
she might atone for her great sin? 

As nurse in a children’s hospital, trained, skillful, 
experienced, might she not bring to other little ones 
the care, the devotion, nay, the very mother-love 
itself, which she could never now give to her 
own ? 

She fell upon her knees, gratefully, devoutly, and 
her whole heart went up to her God in a petition 
for strength and courage and wisdom in the life to 
which she now consecrated herself. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

AT ST. LUKE’S. 

Kenneth Cameron, coming back to his office from 
his morning rounds of the wards, about three weeks 
after Satia’s decision to devote her life to ministra- 
tion to the sick in a children’s hospital, found a lady 
waiting to see him. He had a faint impression of 
having seen the earnest brown eyes, the slight, 
graceful figure before, but he tried in vain, to 
remember where, as he courteously greeted her. 

“ Can you give me a few minutes of your time, 
Doctor Cameron ?” she asked. 


At St. Ltikes. 


A quick smile broke over his rather grave face, 
lighting it up pleasantly. He laid down the card at 
which he had been looking, and came at once toward 
Satia, extending his hand. 

“ I know you now. I remember your voice,” he 
said, with boyish directness. “ You are my mother’s 
friend, whom we met on the steamer at Tarbet last 
spring. She has so often reg-retted that she could 
not have seen more of you then.” 

“ The regret is mutual, I assure you. Doctor 
Cameron. I have been in the mountains of Norway 
for some weeks, and when I came to Bergen ten 
days ago, I found a pleasant letter from your mother 
begging me to visit her. I wish,” she went on 
rapidly, “ I wish you to tell me truthfully if you 
think I could become a hospital nurse for little 
children.” 

Surprised, he glanced involuntarily at her simple 
but costly dress of dark blue, at her dainty gloves, 
and at other details of her attire, which bore the 
unmistakable stamp of fashionable, luxurious life. 
He hesitated a moment before answering her. 

Let me understand you fully, Mrs. Julian. Do 
you wish to take this position temporarily or per- 
manently ?” 

“ Permanently,” she replied at once. 


1 90 Moi^ris Jtiliaiis Wife, 

Again he regarded keenly the pale, worn face, the 
sad eyes. 

“ But, pardon me, the duties of such a life are very . 
exacting. It would be necessary for you to devote 
your whole time to them.” 

“ 1 have no home ties, Doctor Cameron,” she said. 
“ But you do not answer my question. Do you 
think that I can learn to be a nurse, skillful, compe- 
tent ? I have plenty of money for the most thorough 
training. I am willing to work hard. I am strong — ” 

She paused, stopped by his rather incredulous 
look and his half-smile, instantly checked. 

“ Oh, do not judge of me as you see me now, I beg 
of you ! I have been ill, but it was mental trouble. 

I am always well, perfectl}^ so, and strong. You 
need have no fears, doctor, of my breaking down.” 

She had pulled off her gloves while speaking, and 
stretched out her slim hands that he might see their 
strength. He looked at them a moment, and then 
at her again. Smiling broadly now, he said : 

“You have one very strong recommendation, 
Mrs. Julian, which might easily outweigh far graver 
shortcomings than yours. You are thoroughly in 
earnest.” 

“ Oh, thank you for seeing that ! I am in earnest,” 
she cried, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “ I 
want to give my whole life and all my energies to 


At St. Lukes. 


91 


this work. It is everything to me. And I know of 
no one but yourself who can tell me where to go to 
learn all that I need to know. In London or Paris, 
perhaps.'’ 

“You need not go so far away unless you choose. 
In Edinburgh there are excellent training schools.” 

He saw her shudder and turn pale at mention of 
Edinburgh. 

“ Oh, no, not there,” he heard her murmur. 

“ Well — "he considered a few minutes, “ suppose 
you stay here for a month, and make St. Luke’s a 
sort of object lesson. We have excellent nurses, 
and every modern method and appliance. And 
while we do not, as a rule, employ untrained service, 
I am willing to make an exception of you, Mrs. 
Julian. I will arrange with Mrs. McDonel, our head 
nurse, that every opportunity be given you for 
becoming familiar with our routine of work, and at 
the same time you will assist her as she may 
require.” 

Satia arose and walked to the window, her full 
heart overflowing with gratitude for his kindness. 
She felt herself physically unable to conceal her emo- 
tion. She waited until she was qiiite sure of herself 
before she turned to him again. She found him at 
his desk, busy with his morning mail. He arose at 
once and took her extended hand. 


192 


Mo7^r{s JiLliaii s Wife, 


“ I cannot thank you, Doctor Cameron. Let my 
work show you how truly grateful I am, and shall 
always be to you.” 

The grav doctor flushed. The words simply 
spoken in the same sweet tones that had so charmed 
Morris Julian the first night he saw her, thrilled 
him, too. But he said in a half-comical, half-serious 
fashion, which Satia learned to know well : 

“Just wait a bit, Mrs. Julian, until you see what a 
hard task-master you’re getting. I rule here wi’ a 
rod o’ iron, so mind yo’sel’, an’ dinna forget that 
my eye is on ye.” 

As he lapsed into broad dialect, his rather rugged 
face lighted up again with its peculiarly sunny smile, 
and Satia felt as though she had met an old friend 
rather than a stranger. 

Doctor Cameron rang the bell and sent for Mrs. 
McDonel, who proved to be the most delightful, 
motherly Scotchwoman imaginable. Satia was 
immediately reminded of Kelsie. 

“ Mrs. Julian,” he said, “ let me introduce to you 
Mrs. McDonel, our best of mothers here, the queen 
bee of our busy hive. Mrs. Julian wishes,” he con- 
tinued, speaking to the elder woman, “ to learn 
something of our work here. Will 3^ou kindly 
send one of the nurses to ward B with her this 
morning ; and if you will come to the office at one 


At St, Lukes. 


193 


o’clock, I will then arrange with you for her regular 
duties.” 

And so Satia began her new life. 

o. 

******* 

Satia proved herself an apt pupil. She won the 
hearts of nurses and children alike, and though 
often wearied with her unaccustomed duties, she 
never once regretted having undertaken them. If, 
as Doctor Cameron had said, his “ eagle eye ” was 
on her, she never knew when. Her work did not 
take her to him for advice or help, and he always 
seemed too busy for more than a friendly nod. 
Sometimes, as her month approached its close, she 
wondered if he had forgotten all about her. But 
one morning she was summoned to his office. 

“ Pray be seated, Mrs. Julian,” he said, “ and 
excuse me one moment.” 

She sat down and watched him as he wrote 
swiftly, exactly, a large characteristic hand, which 
she could have read half a dozen feet away, had she 
chosen to do' so. She noted his well-shaped head 
covered with wavy brown hair, close-cropped, his 
clear-cut features, square, full forehead, kindly, 
keen blue-gray eyes, the short, brown beard which 
concealed his mouth and chin ; his broad shoulders 
and massive figure. It was a personality denoting 


194 


Morris Julia^is Wife. 


energy, resolution, character. She found herself 
comparing him with Morris, whose soft, dark hair, 
pale complexion, blue eyes and slender build seemed 
almost girlish in contrast with the vigor of the 
sturdy Scotsman. His moment lengthened to five 
— ten. Satia wondered which of the two men had 
the stronger will ; which would sooner yield if one 
were pitted against the other. She wondered, too, 
if Doctor Cameron had a wife, and what sort of a 
body she was. Suddenly he turned to her. 

Mrs. Julian,” he began, in his quick, decided 
way, “ you have done nobly. Here is your ticket 

and card of admission to the X- Training School 

in London. I remember that you preferred not to 
go to Edinburgh. Here, also, is a letter to Doctor 
Renwick, surgeon-in-charge. He is a good friend 
of mine. Doctor Dallas, from here, leaves for 
London to-morrow morning on the express. Please 
be ready to go with him. I expect to come down 
in a month or so, and will be sure to look in and 
see how you are getting on.” 

He placed the cards in her hands, and was about 
to say more, when a hasty summons interrupted 
him. 

Satia walked down the hall, feeling breathless and 
bewildered with the suddenness and the import of the 


At St. Luke's. 


195 


interview. Surely, here was a man of deeds, not 
words. 

Work in earnest now began for her. The next 
six months were busy ones, indeed. Doctor Cam- 
eron’s promised trip was not taken, and it was spring 
again before she saw him. He came quite unexpect- 
edly one morning. 

“ I’ve come for you, Mrs. Julian,” he began at 
once. “ Mrs. McDonel is down with an ugly fever, 
which was brought in a month ago, and two other 
nurses are on the way to it. I’ve come here for a 
couple in their places, and I want you, too. It 
seems a pity to break in on your fine record here; 
but you’ll do the bairns more good than anyone 
else I know of. They miss you sadly. Will you 
come to them ?” 

Kenneth Cameron could not understand the look 
of intense joy and thankfulness which illuminated 
Satia’s face as she listened. She bowed her head ; 
her lips moved. He fancied he heard her murmur, 
“ Father, I thank thee,” before she said to him : 

‘‘ Yes, doctor, I will come.” 

She saw him now every day. In her humility 
and gratitude that she was able to do so much for 
the comfort of the children she loved, and in each 
of whom she saw her own beloved boy, she little 
dreamed how greatly the quiet, busy doctor was 


196 


Morris Julian's Wife. 


learning to depend upon her. She was so intelli- 
gent, so untiring, so gentle, so sweet and so 
womanly that he often wondered how he had ever 
gotten along without her. But there was little 
time for anyone to think of other things than the 
work which each day brought. It was midsummer 
before the fever had -run its course and the usual 
routine of hospital work could be again resumed. 

And then came an imperative summons from Mrs. 
Cameron for the long-delayed visit from Satia. 

“ It is a sin and a shame,” that lady wrote her, 
“ that the daughter of Jeanie Sutherland has been 
in Scotland a whole year and never yet stepped 
foot across my threshold ! For the wee bairnies’ 
sake I’ve tried to be patient ; but now I’ll have my 
way — and if you’ve seen much of Kenneth you’ve 
learned that the Cameron way always wins. I’ll 
have my way now, I say, if I’ve to come and fetch 
you in my arms. So, Satia, my bonnie lassie, just 
tell the big doctor that you’re cornin’, and never 
wait to hear what he says! I’ll meet you at Dun- 
noch Fields Station Thursday, at the noon train. 
Dinna forget, or ye’ll bring doon on ye the ever- 
lastin’ wrath o’ your lovin’ friend, 

“ Alisan Cameron.” 

Satia felt a warm glow about her heart as she 
read this little letter. It was so sweet to feel that 
somebody really wanted her ; so long since any 


At St. Ltikes. 


197 


dear personal companionship had enriched her life ; 
so lovely to know that it was the dear girl-friend of 
her own mother who extended so cordial a welcome 
to her coming. 

She sprang up and ran down to the doctor’s office, 
to show him the note and to ask him to go, as 
impulsively as she might have done ten years 
before. In her haste and pleasure she forgot the 
tiny, close-fitting cap of the nurse’s uniform. A 
clear, glad song overflowed from her happy heart. 

Kenneth heard this before he did her light foot- 
step, and he stopped his hurrying pen to listen. 
The quick, pleased smile which softened beautifully 
his often stern features, played over them ; he raised 
his eyes, full now of a tender glow, and upon what 
vision did they rest? 

Not the Mrs. Julian he had known, winning and 
lovely as she was, but the Satia he had never seen, 
matured, chastened, ennobled by the sorrows of 
her young life. Utterly forgetful of self, she came 
to him with her happiness simply as a child might. 
And the man who beheld her, admiring, reverenc- 
ing, loving her as he knew from this moment that 
he did, knew also that he had no part nor place in 
her gladness. 

With the generosity of a great nature, he vailed 
his eyes. He would not spoil, even by a look, the 


198 


Morris Julians Wife, 


pleasure, whatever it might be, making her a girl 
again. 

“ Are you very busy, doctor?” she asked, coming 
toward him. “ Here is a letter that I think you 
will like to read.” 

She handed it to him and sat down near by, in 
the friendly fashion which had come from their 
weeks of companionship. 

Doctor Cameron’s hand shook as he took the 
sheet, but the sight of his mother’s familiar writing 
reassured him. His sudden fear that she might be 
about to leave them was changed to satisfaction 
when he found that it was his own home which 
would receive her. He read the letter through 
slowly. It was so pleasant to know that she was 
sitting there quite near, waiting for him to give per- 
mission for the holiday. He longed to tell her of 
all else which he hoped some day to give her — his 
love, his care, the devotion of his whole life. The 
words rushed eagerly to his lips, but he stayed 
them. The time was not yet. She was learning to 
know and to trust him as a friend. He would wait 
patiently until the flower of that perfect love which 
is only possible between two friends— im the highest 
sense of the word — should have time for its full 
blossoming. 

Satia, meantime, was waiting, and wondering how 


At St, Luke's, 


199 


he could possibly be such a long while getting 
through with the short letter. She reached over 
and took a pair of spectacles — left there by Mrs. 
McDonel — from the table and handed them to him, 
smiling demurely. 

He received them with a grave bow, but eyes 
flashing with mischief, put them on, and peered 
comically over at her. 

“ Ye’re lookin’ varra ill to-day, Mrs. Julian. I’m 
sure that nothin’ less than a couple o’ weeks at Dun- 
iioch Crags ’ll build ye oop again. So just bundle 
yesel’ off by t’ marnin’ express, an I’ll mak’ it all 
right wi’ t’ big doctor.” 

Satia thanked him, and got up to leave. 

“Aren’t you going to say good-bye ?” he asked, 
quickly, putting down the spectacles and stepping 
to her side. 

“ Why, I’ll see you again a dozen times to-day, 
doctor,” she said surprised. 

“ To be sure — ^to be sure,” he replied ; “ but nobody 
knows how many chattering folks will be about ; so 
I’ll just say good-bye now, Mrs. Julian, if you 
please.” 

Satia thought of his mother’s words, “ the Cam- 
eron way always wins,” as she shook hands with him 
and heard him say that he should miss her every 
hour while she was gone. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

A VISIT. 

When Satia left the train at Dunnoch Fields the 
next day, it was with a lighter heart than she had 
known for many months. In the first place, it was 
a perfect da}^ Beautiful Scotland was never more 
fair ; the skies never more blue ; the sunshine 
never more golden. Simply to be alive in such a 
world gave her keen delight. 

It was pleasant, too, to have laid aside the nurse’s 
costume and be wearing again one of her own more 
dainty gowns. Satia possessed exquisite taste in 
dress, and she enjoyed indulging it. So, on this 
morning, the consciousness of being suitably 
appareled, although not uppermost in her mind — as, 
indeed, it seldom was — added to her serenity. 

Besides this, she was anticipating with no little 
eagerness the near acquaintance with her mother’s 
friend, and all the other pleasures of her well-earned 
holiday. 

[200] 



A Visit, 


201 


But a greater source of happiness than all these 
combined, was the thought of her success in the 
work she had undertaken. 

The weeks and months of the past year had been 
full to the uttermost of constantly recurring duties. 
Many of them were distasteful, many fatiguing ; all 
required continual thought, patience, forbearance. 
But, like all labor conscientiously done, hers had 
brought its rich reward to body and spirit alike. 
She had grown strong, and was capable of more 
endurance than she would have thought possible. 
The roses of health again bloomed upon cheek and 
lip, and every movement showed abounding 
vigor. 

The piercing sharpness of her grief had passed 
away. The touch of baby hands, the clinging clasp 
of tiny fingers, the helpless dependence of her little 
charges, the wealth of love they poured into her 
sore and wounded heart, all had soothed its con- 
suming pain and brought her peace of mind. Not 
that she loved Maynard less; on the contrary, she 
longed for him more and more ; but she performed 
each service as to him, penitentially, in atonement 
for her sin against him. So, although bearing 
marks of ever-present sorrow, she looked in 
harmony with the lovely day, as she stood upon the 


202 


Morris Juliaris Wife. 


platform and saw Mrs. Cameron smiling at her from 
a wagonette which at that moment came up. 

“ ril ask you to excuse me for not getting down 
to meet you, my dear. I’m a bit stiff this morning. 
And how are you ?” 

“ I’m as well as can be,” said Satia, returning her 
affectionate greeting ; “ and so glad to be here with 
you, dear Mrs. Cameron.” 

‘‘ Not any more than I am to have you, dear girl 
— be sure of that. An’ did you leave my boy well ? 
I’ve been jealous of you the whole year, that you 
could see him every day,” she went on, without 
waiting for a reply. “ It’s no small cross to me to 
have him off there in the hospital, though I never 
tell him so. He’s all I’ve left in the world, my dear, 
and the best son that ever was born.” 

“ Everybody at St. Luke’s thinks there is nobody 
like ‘ the doctor.’ He was quite well when I left, 
Mrs. Cameron, and he is as busy always as two men 
ought to be.” 

“ Else he would not be my Kenneth,” said the old 
lady, proudly. “Do you know I’ve sometimes to 
coax and really to scold him to get him off wi’ me 
for a bit of a trip like the one you found us takin’ 
last spring ; an’ he my own little lad, too, that I’ve 
carried in my arms for many an hour when he was a 
wee baby an’ the toothies cornin’.” 


A Visit. 


203 


Satia’s smile broadened and deepened into a little 
low laugh of pure amusement. 

“ An' now you're laughin' at the silly mither, you 
naughty lass !" cried Mrs. Can^eron, laughing her- 
self. “Well, 'tis better to laugh than to cry. So 
laugh, an* you will, but dinna stop short o' lovin’ me 
a bit, too. 'Twill be a glad sight to see a bonnie 
young face in the old house that’s been silent so 
long, an' to feel that a lovin' young heart is beatin’ 
close to mine. Here we are. Welcome, Satia; 
right gladly welcome to Dunnoch Crags." 

As she spoke the wagonette stopped. With a 
good deal of difficulty, Mrs. Cameron alighted, and, 
leaning on Satia's arm, led the way along a flower- 
bordered walk to a gray-stone cottage, set well back 
among the trees. It was old-fashioned and many- 
gabled, but roomy, in its rambling quaintness, with 
sunny nooks. 

Satia was taken at once to her room. 

“ Now, my dear, you are at home, an’ free to do 
as you like. You’re not ‘ company ’ for one minute, 
mind," said this most charming of hostesses. “ So 
Tm just goin’ to send you up a bit o’ lunch, an’ then 
ril take my afternoon nap earlier to-day than com- 
mon, as I’ve a meeting at three in Dunnoch village. 
I’m just like an old lady in a novel, you’ll see, wi’ 
my poor people, an’ flannels, an’ cottage improve- 


204 


Morris Julian's Wife. 


merits,” she said, with a droll, bright glance exactly , 
like that Kenneth sometimes flashed from his keen 
eyes. “Another time I’ll take you along, but to-day | 
I’ll just leave you to rest yourself. An’ so good-bye , 
now until dinner at six.” | 

She patted the hand she was holding, and drew | 
Satia’s face down for a motherly kiss before she ! 
went away. 

The next morning, thoroughly rested and 
refreshed, Satia was down stairs very early. She 
had passed through the wide hall out on to the long , 
veranda which ran along the east side of the house. 
As she stood there — a charming figure in her fresh, 
white dress — for the first time since she left him, she 
missed her husband. On shipboard, in Fernandina, 
in Bergen, in Geneva, at St. Luke’s, she had seldom 
thought of him except with a sense of gladness for 
her freedom. But here, in this house, with its 
dainty, luxurious appointments, its indescribable air ■ 
of homelikeness and refinement, she missed him. ^ 
Very few mornings had passed, during the five 
years of their life together, when she had not 
received from his hand a flower or tiny bunch of 
blossoms. This was a small courtesy, but it was fol- 
lowed all the day by numberless others, showing her 
how constantly and lovingly she was in his thoughts. 
And she had tired of them : had wearied of a cease- 


A Vtsti, 


205 


less devotion which, it seemed to her, was but a fra. 
grant garland covering her chains. Of her own 
accord she had freed herself from what then seemed 
insupportable bondage, and had since lived her own 
life, just as she had so ardently longed to do. And 
yet — oh, who can read the riddle of a woman’s heart ? 
— on this dewy summer morning, Satia Julian found, 
in the very center of her secret self, a wish that 
Morris were by her side, offering to her the bunch 
of roses which she now broke off and fastened in her 
gown. 

She was startled to discover this ; half-frightened 
to realize the presence of this strange, shy longing 
which possessed her. Whence did it come ? What 
did it mean ? 

Into the midst of these disturbing thoughts came 
Mrs. Cameron’s pleasant voice. 

“ The top o’ the mornin’ to you, my dear Satia, as 
our cousins across the channel say. I’ve no need to 
ask if you rested weel. Come now, an’ have some 
breakfast ; then I want you to drive me across the 
country a few miles. I’ve a trim little pony that’ll 
give you no trouble.” 

They set out while the dew was yet glistening 
along the roadside, and Satia enjoyed every 
moment, for besides the lovely landscape and the 


2o6 


Morris Julians Wife, 


delightful mountain air, she was hearing of her 
mother. 

“You are quite right,” said Mrs. Cameron, in 
answer to her question, “ in thinking that your 
mother never lived in Scotland. Her grandmother 
was a true Scotswoman, a Ramsey of brave, blue 
blood. She went to America when she married, and 
none of her family ever returned to the old home. 
My father, a life-long friend of hers, moved there 
when I was a girl, and for more than five years 
Jeanie Sutherland and I were seldom separated. I 
married young and came to live in this very house. 
She married late — an x\merican gentleman — and 
different circumstances kept her from ever making 
me the visit we both looked forward to with so 
much delight. Your mother was one of the sweet- 
est, truest-natured women the good Lord ever 
made. You have her own bonnie face over again, 
and her laugh, and her pretty ways, and I doubt 
not her gentle spirit, too. It is a great thing, my 
dear, to have had a good, Christian mother — a 
blessed and a holy thing.” 

Satia did not reply ; she could not. She was glad 
that Mrs. Cameron did not appear to expect it, but 
kept on telling this and that reminiscence during 
the whole of the pleasant drive to Cairlie. 

She with difficulty repressed the cry which rose 


A Visit. 


207 


to her lips as she heard the name of the village to 
which Mrs. Cameron’s errand had brought her. 
She longed, yet found it impossible, to ask if Castle 
Cairlie was in the neighborhood. Even to see the 
place where Maynard’s picture hung, without dar- 
ing to fancy his actual presence so near, set every 
pulse throbbing. Imagine her breathless interest, 
her almost overpowering emotion, when her friend, 
pointing off to the right, said, presently : 

“ Yonder you can see the towers and turrets of 
Cairlie Castle. ’Tis a grim old spot and a lonely 
one, the scene of much revelry in the long gone 
years, but ever since my day nearly uninhabited. 
Old Laird Cairlie, as he called himself, was a queer 
soul. He died last year while 1 was away, an’ I’m 
told that the estate passed to the son of a very distant 
relative in America. I never heard his name. We’ll 
drive over there some day, if you like. It’s worth 
goin’ many a mile to see the Cairlie forests.” 

Satia strained her eyes to catch a glimpse of the 
gray old pile, but the road made an abrupt turn and 
they went in another direction. 

She found it very hard to control her thoughts 
for the rest of the morning. After luncheon they 
went to a small tea-party given in Dunnoch village by 
some of Mrs. Cameron’s old ladies, and in the even- 


2o8 


Morris Julian's Wife. 


ing neighbors called to see her and to greet her 
guest, in the good, old-fashioned way. 

Satia charmed them all by her beauty and gentle- 
ness, but her self-control was put to a severe test by 
r the frequent allusions she heard made to the new 
lord of Castle Cairlie and the various changes there. 
She was in terror lest some one should notice the 
similarity of their names and ask some of the ques- 
tions which even well-bred people do not always 
refrain from. She drew a long breath of relief 
when the last of them departed. 

To-morrow brought pouring rain, and the two set- 
tled down for a long, undisturbed day together. 

Satia had resolved to take the first opportunity to 
tell the whole unhappy story of her married life to 
the friend whom she believed would love her none 
the less for doing so. She had felt, since the first 
hour beneath her roof, like a false pretender ; as 
though she could not meet without faltering, Mrs. 
Cameron’s trustful eyes. She divined, with sure 
instinct, that her hostess reposed perfect confidence 
in her, as her mother’s daughter, and she was so 
much the more anxious not to deceive her in regard 
to her present position. This had seemed the more 
necessary in view of her unexpected nearness to 
Castle Cairlie, and the likelihood of constantly 


A Visit, 


209 


meeting people Avho would gossip concerning mat- 
ters there. 

Moreover, Satia felt the need of a strong arm and 
a loving heart on which to lean in the midst of the 
distracting influences by which she was so suddenly 
surrounded. All the peace of mind she had brought 
to Dunnoch Crags had been changed to unrest and 
self-distrust. She was tossed about upon a flood of 
conflicting desires. She yearned unutterably for 
her child, yet deemed herself unworthy to look into 
his innocent face. She longed for Morris with a 
personal tenderness and affection never before felt 
for him. She wished with all her heart that she 
w'as back again at St. Luke’s, as she had been one 
short week before, contentedly at work ; that she 
had never left its sheltering walls, to be plunged 
into such a maze of perplexity ; and at the same 
time she dreaded the very thought of leaving this 
home. 

The resolution, the fearlessness, the ability to 
decide for herself, upon which she had relied so 
unfailingly for the past three years, deserted her 
now. She was unable to see her way clearly, or, 
indeed, at all. And she turned, in her helplessness, 
to the friend of only two short days, but a friend 
who already seemed more like a mother than Aunt 




210 


Morris Julians Wife, 


Hester, with all her unselfish devotion, could ever 
have done. 

It is given to some women to possess the true 
mother-heart, which, in its large, loving sympathy 
and an indescribable something which wins confi- 
dence as the sunshine wins the dew, attracts every 
heavy-burdened — yea, even every sinning heart — to 
pour out there the sorry tale of all its woes. Such a 
woman was Alisan Cameron, and Satia knew this 
from almost the first hour of seeing her. 

They were sitting in a pleasant room, where Mrs. 
Cameron was in the habit of attending to her 
accounts and her correspondence - immediately after 
breakfast. She was busy at her desk, and Satia, 
under pretense of reading, was trying to reduce the 
chaos of her thoughts to some sort of order. But 
she found her eyes continually straying in the 
direction of Castle Cairlie, and seeing only the dear 
features of its little laird. 

At length Mrs. Cameron came over to her favorite 
easy-chair, and drew toward her a large basket of 
wools, from which she took a bit of bright knitting. 

“ Put down your book, my bonnie,” she said, “ and 
come over here and talk to me. I’ve not yet heard 
half enough of the famous place where you and 
Kenneth find so much to do.” 

Satia made no answer. The tears were running 


A Visit. 


21 I 


down her cheeks, in spite of her efforts to restrain 
them. She tried to shield her face with her book 
until she could leave the room, but it was useless. 
Her overtaxed nerves refused to obey her. She 
broke into uncontrollable weeping. 

Mrs. Cameron glanced up in surprise. Then she 
opened her arms, and Satia, drawn irresistibly, 
sought their shelter as a little child might have done. 
Resting there, feeling a caressing touch on cheek 
and brow, hearing low-spoken words of soothing 
sympathy, she sobbed away the bitterness of her 
distress. 

“ My bairnie ! my poor, wee bairnie ! my boiinie 
lassie !” fell over and over again upon her hungry 
ears, as she knelt there. The sweetness of being so 
loved and so comforted at last stilled the tempest of 
her emotion. 

“ May I tell you all about it ?”she whispered. 

Yes, darlin’.'' 

She drew a low chair close beside the larger one, 
and, holding fast to Mrs. Cameron’s hand, looking 
into her clear, loving eyes, she told the whole miser- 
able story of the past few years. She told it truth- 
fully, exactly, and her friend heard it in silence. 
When she had finished, she was again drawn to her 
close embrace. 

“ My puir, mitherless bairn !” she murmured, cov- 


212 


Morris Julian s Wife. 


ering Satia’s hot cheek with kisses ; “ my puir, sair- 
hearted lassie ! my brave, bonnie girl !” Then, 
after a few minutes, she added : ** Come, my child, 
you will be ill with all this excitement. Come and 
rest now, and we’ll talk together again by and b 3 ^ 
There’ll be a way out o’ all this darkness, my 
bonnie, never fear.” 

Satia suffered herself to be led away to the cool 
silence of her pretty room, and Mrs. Came-ron sat 
down to think of the pitiful tale which had stirred 
her sympathy and her indignation by turns. 

The sun was well down behind the western hills 
when she went softly in, and after opening the 
blinds to admit the fragrant breezes, lay down 
beside Satia. She put one arm about her, and 
passed her hand caressingly over her hair. 

“ My dear child,” she began, presently, “ you 
were wrong. Hush !” — as Satia would have spoken. 
“ Listen, and let me talk to you just as though you 
were my own sweet daughter Jessie, who has so 
often lain beside me here as you are doing now. 

“You were wrong, Satia. Your marriage vows 
said — ‘for better or for worse.’ You made them 
solemnly in the presence of God himself ; and what 
He has joined together man may not put asunder. 
There was a grievous burden laid upon you, and 1 
cannot blame you for resenting your husband’s self- 


A Visit. 


213 


ish absorption of your whole being ; but, Satia, I 
am an old woman ; 1 have seen great joys and great 
sorrows during the years of my life. Tve seen 
much o’ the world, an' have been led in many ways 
not o’ my own seeking ; but I have yet to see the 
person who found happiness or contentment by the 
neglect of plain duty. 

“ Dinna think me harsh, my darlin’, the daughter 
of my sweet friend, Jeanie Sutherland. My old 
heart would gladly ache to bring joy back to yours ; 
but I canna say aught else to you but what I 
believe. You’ve erred through ignorance. In the 
innocence o’ your young heart, crushed and 
stifled as it was, you did what you thought was 
right ; but Satia, a wife’s place is by her husband’s 
side ; a mother’s by her child’s. The gude Father 
bound you to them* by ties which you cannot sever. 
When you left your home, you turned your feet 
into a path which can only lead you to misery. 
There is but one thing to be done. Go back to 
your rightful place in this big world. Does it seem 
hard — impossible? 1 doubt it not; I doubt it not. 
But the gude Father will give you strength, an’ you 
ask Him. You are older an’ wiser now ; an’ if I mis- 
take not, your husband has not missed you all these 
months for nothin.’ The new life you will live 
together will not be like the old ; an’ you will have 


214 


Morris Julian's Wife, 


your boy, your precious little lad. Think o’ that, 
Satia.” 

Satia’s heart again thrilled with the sweet, timid 
joy she now felt in thinking of Morris, and it 
bounded as though Maynard was at that moment in 
her arms. But, like a hateful echo, she heard the 
never-to-be-forgotten words of the Edinburgh gal- 
lery. With a moan, she exclaimed : 

“ Oh, no, it can never be ! I cannot take to them 
a dishonored name.” 

Nonsense, my child,” said Mrs. Cameron, 
decidedly. “ Never trouble your head about that 
miserable gossip. It’ll amount to less than the tip 
o’ a thistle when once your husband’s roof shelters 
you. Dinna you mind the least bit i’ the world 
what the whole o’ the triflin’ crowd o’ busybodies 
say, so long as he believes in you. An’ you know 
right weel that he does. I’m as sure as need be.” 

“ Oh, yes,” replied Satia, surprised that she had 
never thought of this before. 

“ Then rise above it all. Leave all these wretched 
months behin’ you, and write your husband a word 
that’ll bring him to you here, an’ make you my own 
light-hearted, happy darlin’ again.” 

Satia was sitting up now. Her eyes were like 
stars ; the color came and went in her cheeks. 
Already she seemed to see Morris beside her and 


A Summons, 


215 


their son upon her breast. She hid her face on Mrs. 
Cameron’s shoulder and promised to do what she 
had bidden. 


CHAPTER XX. 

A SUMMONS. 

It was harder than she had thought for Satia to 
write the letter to Morris. Pride kept insisting on 
having its way and its say, in spite of the prompt- 
ings of emotion. Sheet after sheet was written, only 
to be destroyed. At last, in despair, she simply 
wrote : 

“ Dear Morris : Will you come to me at Mrs. 
Cameron’s, Dunnoch Crags? 

“ Satja.” 

The rest was left to be said when he should be 
there. She sent the note to Castle Cairlie by a 
trusty messenger, and then she waited — waited 
impatiently, longingly, as a girl does for her lover. 
In some mysterious way, the intervening years 
seemed blotted out, and she was again the maiden 
whom he sought to win. She was an enigma to her- 


2 i 6 Mor^'is J7ilia7i's Wije. . 

self. His faults were just as clearly as ever before 
her, and yet she discovered herself excusing them ; 
finding ways, in her imagination, of conquering 
them ; of forbearing and of forgiving such as she 
had never dreamed of. Morris Julian was in very 
many ways the most winning and lovable of men. 
His wife, looking back over their acquaintance, saw 
this, and was now willing — nay, eager — to give him 
his due. She thought again and again of his 
written words : Remember that I am your hus- 

band, your legal protector, and your devoted 
lover.” That they were as true that day as when 
he sent them to her, she never for a moment 
doubted. 

She went a dozen times to see if the messenger 
was returning ; she flitted from house to garden, 
from garden to house ; she made no pretense of con- 
cealing her excitement and her eagerness from Mrs. 
Cameron. 

At last she heard a horse’s hoofs. She sprang up 
trembling. Was he here? How should she meet 
him ? Or was it only a message ? She had told 
herself not to expect too much ; that he might be far 
away from Scotland. At the same time she had 
lived on the hope of seeing him before the sun went 
down. 

The messenger came in alone. He brought her 


A S7immo7is. 


1 7 


letter back with the information that Lord Cairlie 
was gone to Paris to remain six weeks. 

Satia turned to Mrs. Cameron, pale with disap- 
pointment. 

“ It is an omen/’ she said ; “ my little olive-branch 
has come back to me unseen.” 

“ Unseen, but not unaccepted,” replied her friend, 
who could not help being sorry for her. “ We’ll 
send over to-morrow and get the Paris address, 
and he'll be sure to get the letter within a week.” 

The next morning she proposed that they them- 
selves drive to Castle Cairlie ; but Satia said, rather 
proudly : 

“No. Now that Morris has his home there I 
will not go until 1 have seen him.” 

The little “ olive-branch ” was again sent off. A 
week passed — ten days, and no reply. Satia, worn 
out with the suspense of waiting, at length said to 
Mrs. Cameron : 

“ I must go back and get to work. Forgive me if 
1 shorten my stay with you.” 

“ Do just as seems best to you. You know how 
gladly I would keep you here always, as my own 
dear daughter, and you will remem’ber, I know, that 
this is your home, as much as though you were a 
Cameron born. Come when you will. But go 
back to your work now if your heart will be 


2i8 


Morris Jtilia7is Wife, 


lighter there. The dear babies will cheer it, if any- 
thing on God’s earth can. May He bless you, darlin’, 
an’ bring you back to you own.” 

So Satia returned to St. Luke’s before her holiday 
was over. Her brain was in a whirl which nothing 
but the regular routine of duties and the presence 
of the little ones could quiet. 

She did not see Doctor Cameron for some hours 
after her arrival. She had gone to work at once, 
and^he came upon her unexpectedly at the bedside of 
a dear child whose short life was near its close. 
Had Satia looked up in time to catch the first 
expression of his face as he saw her, she would have 
learned the secret which, indeed, was a secret to 
him no longer. She replied pleasantly to his brief 
greeting, and then they were both busy with the 
little sufferer. But the “ big doctor ” was thrilling 
through and through with a sense of her nearness. 
He watched with tender pride her gentle ministra- 
tions ; he rejoiced in her beauty, her charm of 
manner, her sweetness of nature ; she seemed to him 
more than ever the one woman of the world. He 
also noticed, when at last nothing more remained to 
be done for the little one, that she was looking ill. 
The gladsome, girlish presence which he had sent 
to Dunnoch Crags had not returned to him. In 
its stead he saw an older woman ; restless, nervously 


A Summons, 


219 


busy and preoccupied. He could get from her but 
the most meager accounts of her visit with his 
mother, of whom she spoke with warmest love, and 
(foolish fellow that he was ! ) his glad heart argued 
from this happy things for itself. 

True love is humility itself, and Kenneth’s was of 
the truest sort. But it was not of the narrow, 
selfish kind which can see nothing outside of its 
own gratification. So, not long after her return, he 
received an urgent request to send the best possible 
nurse at once to Castle Cairlie. He went directly 
to her with the telegram. 

“ Can you be ready to start for Castle Cairlie in 
half an hour? A little fellow there, the son of the 
present Lord Cairlie, has been hurt by a runaway. 
His father is on the Continent somewhere (about to 
be married, I understand,) and Doctor Murray has 
sent for a nurse. Td rather he were in your hands 
than any others I know of.” 

Satia did not reply immediately. The doctor 
noticed both her extreme pallor and her hesitation. 

“ Murray will be in constant attendance, and he is 
a fine physician,” he said, as if to reassure her. 

But she was not thinking of the responsibilities of 
her position. Kenneth’s remark about Morris 
struck terror to her very soul. Could it be possible 
that Morris had at last wearied of his lonely life, 


2 20 


Morris Julians Wife, 


taken legal steps for a separation, and was to be 
married again ? Men had done such things. Like 
a flash then came the thought of her unanswered 
letter. How plain that now was in the light of this 
possible solution ! She stood like a statue, until she 
remembered that her boy was suffering and needed 
her. The blood came back in a flood to cheek and 
brow. Her scruples in regard to going to Castle 
Cairlie before seeing Morris, vanished. She con- 
sented to go. 

Doctor Cameron recalled afterwards with what 
feverish eagerness she received his instructions and 
made her preparations for leaving. He was haunted 
for days by the despairing, imploring expression in 
her eyes as she bade him good-bye. As he watched 
the train out of sight around the curve of Erlallach 
Hill, he wished, with a vague apprehension of he 
knew not what, that he had gone with her. 

Satia was met at Glen Cairlie station b}^ Doctor 
Murray. Their drive of nearly two miles, through a 
wild, picturesque country, was almost a silent one. 
She found it beyond her power to be more than 
politely civil. At length they turned into the noted 
Cairlie Forest and drove apparently to its heart. 
Here, upon a rather high hill, which had been 
cleared on every side but one, and up which wound 
a broad carriage-way, stood the castle. Truly, as 


A Sicmmons. 


221 


Mrs. Cameron had said, it was “a grim old place 
and a lonely one.” Towers, turrets, battlements, 
arches, crumbling walls and those more recently 
built, all combined in what seemed to her inextric- 
able confusion as she followed Doctor Murray 
through a massive gateway. Before they reached 
the door, it opened, and a neatly dressed, white- 
capped maid came toward them. She courtesied to 
Satia and spoke to the doctor. 

“ Aleck had to go for more liniment for Mrs. 
Kelsie. She's took bad again. He said to tell you 
he’d be back as soon as ever he could, sir.” 

‘‘Very well, Janet. How is the little master?” 
replied the doctor, making the pony fast. 

“ Oh, he’s no worse, sir, I think. He’s still sleep- 
ing nicel3\” 

“ This is his new nurse, Janet — Miss Julia. Will 
you take her to her room ? She may like to rest a 
bit. Then bring her to the library and I’ll take her 
in to see him.” 

Once left alone, Satia threw herself upon the bed 
and tried to calm the tumult of her brain. She 
realized the great necessity of controlling herself. 
She wished that Doctor Murray and the rosy-cheeked 
Janet and everybody else were miles away, and that 
she might be alone with Maynard. She recalled, so 
vividly, the morning she had last s*een him. He lay 


222 


Morris Julians Wife, 


sleeping in Kelsie’sarms in the New York hotel ; and 
she, about to go on board the Rochester^ had calmly 
kissed him good-bye without a quiver of heart or 
lip. She looked back upon that self with horror and 
amazement. Under what spell of evil could she 
have been? What strange, benumbing power? 
Whatever it might have been, she was freed from it 
now, and she thrilled with love and longing at the 
very thought of seeing again the features of her bby^ 
He was a baby no longer, but five years old and 
more. W ould he — could it be possible that any faint 
remembrance of her had lingered within his little 
brain — any image which the sight of her might start 
out from its shadowy corners and bring into the 
clear light of recollection ? And if he should know 
her, what then ? She sprang up and hastily pre- 
pared herself for her duties. She wore the simple 
dress and close-fitting cap of the St. Luke’s nurses. 
Her quickly-bounding pulses and repressed excite- 
ment, gave color and beauty to her pale face. 
Doctor Murray noticed the change in her appear- 
ance as she came down to him, but he little suspected 
its cause. Before leaving the library, he gave her a 
detailed account of Maynard’s injuries and the care 
he would require. 

“ Lord Cairlie tells me,” he said then, as he opened 
the door and folloVed her from the room, “ that he 


A Summons. 


223 


intends making extensive additions, or rather, 
renovations here. Things now are pretty much as 
the old laird left them. You’ll find three or four of 
the old family servants on the place, and that’s about 
all. Janet and Aleck are the grandchildren of Mrs. 
Boyd, the housekeeper.” 

They crossed an immense hall and entered a nar- 
rower passage, from which doors opened to the 
right and left. Passing through one of these, they 
entered a lofty apartment, in the center of which 
was a high-posted, old-fashioned bedstead. On this 
lay the little laird of Castle Cairlie. 

His large, brown eyes turned wistfully toward the 
door as it opened, and a faint smile lighted them as 
he saw Doctor Murray. He put out a small, hot 
hand. 

“ I’m so glad you’ve come back, doctor. I’ve just 
waked up.” 

“ You have had a good nap. then, my boy. That 
will do you good, I am sure. See, Maynard, I have 
brought you a new nurse. Her name is Miss Julia, 
and she’s going to help you get well very fast.’' 

The brown eyes turned quickly now toward 
Satia who came immediately forward, and bending 
over the bed, looked down into the sweet, upturned 
face of her son. She smiled in answer to his earnest 
scrutiny. 


:2 24 Moi'ris Jtilian's Wife. 

Who shall say from what hidden recess of his 
memory, what long-forgotten impressions of his 
baby days, came the unexpected question, asked in 
a weak voice : 

“ Can you sing ' Birdies in their pretty nests ?’ ” 

“ Yes, Maynard,” she replied at once. 

“ Please do,” came more faintly. 

Satia glanced toward the doctor, and read per- 
mission in his scarcely perceptible nod. Then, 
breathing a fervent praj^er for strength, she began, 
very softly. 

She had not sung a note since the day in Edin- 
burgh, and she trembled for fear she should not be 
able to do so now ; but the clear tones came forth 
at her bidding, sweet and strong. Never had she 
been more thankful for her beautiful voice than 
now ; never had she used it with more skill ; never 
had she received greater praise than Maynard’s 
delighted listening. 

“ More, please,” he said, when she had finished 
the last verse. 

She sang another song, and another, until pres- 
ently the heavy lids closed, and he was asleep. 
Doctor Murray laid down, very gently, the hand 
which had all the time been clinging fast to his. 

“You have done him good already, Miss Julia,” 


SATTA KK<M^GNI/KS THK HAIT.— J'aye 172 


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A Summons, 


225 


he said. This is the first time he has slept with- 
out opiates.’* 

After a few days more of excessive weakness and 
suffering, during which she hardly left his side, 
Maynard began to improve. Then Satia deter- 
mined upon a step which she had been considering 
ever since her arrival at the castle. She took 
advantage of his morning nap one day to explore 
the ancient place. Only a few rooms had been 
kept in repair. These were high and dark and 
gloomy in spite of their handsome furnishings. She 
regarded them as most unfit for Maynard’s occu- 
pancy even in health, and resolved to make a 
change. She found on the south side of the castle, 
overlooking a broad, sloping lawn which Aleck 
took great pride in keeping in beautiful condition, 
an apartment of considerable size, and well-lighted. 
It projected from the main building, and was evi- 
dently a recent addition: Upon questioning Mrs. 
Boyd, she learned that the old laird built it for a 
sort of reading-room. As his sight failed, he com- 
plained of the darkness of his favorite library. But 
his books had never been moved there, and it had 
come to be used since his death, as a lumber room. 
It was here that Satia decided to establish Maynard. 
She had not jet spoken of it to Dr. Murray, and she 


226 


Morris Juliaris Wife, 

was not a little relieved when he came to her and j 
asked : 

“ Are you willing to be left in charge of Maynard 
for a couple of days ? 1 have a call across the moun- 

tain from a patient who is also an old friend, and 1 
ought to go at once/’ 

“ By all means, doctor,” she said ; “ I am quite 
sure I can do all for him that is necessary.” 

I’ve not the least doubt of that. Miss Julia,” he 
returned, heartily. “ It was only if you would 
undertake it. If anything unforeseen occurs, send 
for Doctor Craig over at Dunnoch Fields.” 

Satia watched him drive away with a glad heart. 
Now she was free to do as she liked. She kept 
Janet and Aleck busy in the lumber-room, and the 
latter also drove to and from the village several 
times on various errands. Mrs. Boyd was called in 
frequently, but she could not be spared long from 
Kelsie’s bedside. She, faithful soul, had been badly , 
bruised in the overturn of the carriage, and was 
getting well very slowly. In common with all the ! 
rest of the household, she knew of the new nurse 
only as “ Miss Julia.” This had been a mistake of 
Dr. Murray’s, which Satia had at first been too 
much preoccupied and was afterward disinclined to 
correct. It was, perhaps, just as well, she thought. 

While attending to the removal of an old desk, 


A Summons. 


227 


she found on the floor behind it an envelope. It 
was addressed in Morris’ familiar hand to 

: Mlle. Marie Fontenelle, : 
j Hotel de Longueville, : 

Parisy France. \ 

She felt a strange contraction in her throat as she 
read this. Was it, then, Marie — pretty, girlish, 
graceful Marie — who was to be the second mother 
of her boy, the wife of her husband ? Had Morris, 
in the course of his efforts to trace her from the 
Rochester s burning side, been charmed by the French 
girl’s beauty and her sunny nature into giving her 
the vacant place in his home? It would be no won- 
der. At that moment she felt inexpressibly old and 
worn. Perhaps at that very hour he was with 
Marie. Any day might bring them home. She 
recalled stray bits of gossip which she had over- 
heard about the house. She thought of her unan- 
swered letter. She looked forward to the future, 
which promised to be dark enough. But she would 
not let its shadow fall on the precious present. She 
sprang to work with redoubled energy during the 
golden hours which yet were hers. 



CHAPTER XXL 

“MY DEE FAIR Y.” 

When Doctor Murray returned on the third 
morning after his trip to the mountains, it happened 
that no one saw him. He went quietly into the 
room where he had last seen Maynard. To his 
amazement he found it empty. The stately bed was 
neatly made up ; everything was in order. For an 
instant he stood aghast. Could it be, he thought, 

with dread, that Maynard had But just at that 

moment the soft, clear notes of a song fell upon his 
ear. Guided by them, he made his way along the 
hall until he reached the threshold of a bright and 
cheerful place which appeared to have dropped there 
from some other region of the world. 

Large, white-curtained windows, through which 
the sunshine streamed in ; a low, comfortable bed, 
spread with a snowy counterpane ; two or three 
wicker rockers and a long steamer-chair, piled with 
gay cushions ; a small bookcase, filled with books ; 

[228] 



My Dee Fairy. 


22Q 


a few pictures on the walls ; some hright-hued 
plants, and a golden-throated canary singing in its 
cage, made a pleasing scene. But best sight of all 
was the little laird himself, lying in Satia’s arms, 
drinking in every word she sang to him. Her cap 
was off, and her pretty, soft hair was coiled loosely 
on her neck. 

Neither of them saw the doctor, who whistled 
below his breath as he made good use of his eyes. 
Surely, he thought, there are nurses and nurses. 
He waited until the song was finished, then stepped 
in before them. 

‘‘ Oh, doctor,” cried the boy, sitting erect, “ Tin so 
glad you’ve come! I’ve been wanting you to see 
my new room. Isn’t it just bonnie ?” 

“It is bonnie, indeed, my boy. I hardly know 
whether I’m myself or not in such a fine place,” said 
the doctor, drawing a chair quite close and looking 
keenly at the child. Maynard laughed happily, 
delighted with this praise. 

“ But you, yourself, sir, how have you been behav- 
ing? None too well. I’ll be bound,” he went on, 
shaking his head as he took the small hand in his. 

“ Oh, doctor,” cried Satia, her heart in her throat, 
“ he surely is no worse ?” 

“ So much so. Miss Julia,” he said, with undimin- 
ished gravity, “ that I think I’ll leave him altogether 


230 


Morris Juliaiis Wife. 


in your care in the future. I begin to feel that I 
have mistaken my calling.” 

How she laughed then. She felt so relieved from 
the horrible fear with which his first words had 
filled her. 

Doctor Murray walked all about the room before 
he left, examining and approving everything, to 
Maynard’s infinite delight. 

“ And my dee Fairy did it all for me,” the little 
fellow said. “ 1 call Miss Julia Fairy ’cause she can 
do fings just the way Cind’ella’s fairy did. You 
know all ’bout that, don’t you, doctor?” 

“ Oh, yes, Maynard, very well indeed.” 

“ My Fairy made this booful room for me out of 
the place where papa kept his guns and fings. I 
just want to see how he looks when he sees it now. 
Won’t he be s’prised ?” 

“ I should think so. Your fairy is a very good 
one, Maynard.” 

“ I fink she is,” said he, passing his hand lovingly 
over Satia’s cheek. “I love her deely.” 

Doctor Murray declared that it would be neces- 
sary now for him to come but once a day. But he 
was back again in less than an hour. He found Satia 
sitting near Maynard’s bedside, sewing. The child 
was asleep. 

“ Fve news from our runaway laird at last,” he 


** My Dee Fairyl 


231 


said, speaking in low tones. “ It seems that he was 
off yachting, and instead of going to Genoa, as his 
Paris agents thought likely, he went across to Alex- 
andria. I found a whole batch of telegrams at my 
office just now. Tell Maynard his papa sends a great 
deal of 16ve, and promises letters often. Unless 
there is some change for the worse here, he will not 
return just yet.’’ 

After that, telegrams and letters came every day, 
with many messages and expressions of gratitude 
for Miss Julia. And how Satia counted the days 
now before Morris would come — and not alone, as 
she was confident by this time — before she would be 
shut out from this little heaven on earth. She treas- 
ured each moment and made every one as bright 
and as happy as it was possible for her to do for the 
child whose whole heart she had won. Sometimes 
she reproached herself for having done this; and 
then she thought : “ He is young. He will soon 

forget me when he has others to love ; but I — I must 
live on these precious hours all the rest of my 
life.’^ 

Sometimes she thought with bitterness that she 
had descended to the Level of the heroine of a well- 
known, old-fashioned play, who, after having left 
her home, returned as governess to her own 
children, and wrought the feelings of the audience 


232 


Morris Julians Wife, 


to the highest pitch by the various pathetic, nay, 
even tragic situations brought about by these pecu- 
liar relations. But Satia had no mind for scenes 
nor dramatic episodes. She had no wish to remain 
unasked beneath Morris’ roof, even if it had been 
possible to do so, unknown, after his return. She 
felt stung and humiliated that she had sent her 
unfortunate little letter trusting so fully in his con- 
tinued love. She called herself hard names for 
having done so. She tried, however, to keep all 
these thoughts in abeyance for the present. 

One afternoon, as she sat with Maynard in her 
arms, he said, earnestly, looking up into her face : 

“ I want to whispy you a secret.” 

Very well,” she replied, putting her ear down 
close to his mouth.^ 

“ Papa’s gone to bring my mamma home.” 

Involuntarily she clasped him tightly to her 
breast. It was Nature’s protest against giving him 
to another. 

“ Oh ! oh ! you hurt me, Fairy !” he cried out. 
“ Don’t hug me so big, please.” 

She kissed him again and again, but she could not 
speak. 

I fought you’d be glad to know this secret. 
Papa telled me one time, and Janet, she telled me, 
too, ’fore you came.” 


'' My Dee Fairy. 


233 


“ You must try and grow very strong and well 
for papa, Maynard. He will want to find you quite 
a little man.” 

“ ril try much hard, dee Fairy. My papa is a 
splendid one, and he’ll love you a great lot ; oh, a 
great big lot ; I know he will. And I’m doin’ to ask 
him to bring you a pony, just like my Rob Roy, and 
then we’ll ride all frew the park, and, oh, we’ll have 

Why, what makes you cry, dee Fairy ? Do 

your head ache ? I’m so sorry.” 

He rubbed her forehead with his soft, little 
hands. 

“ There, don’t it feel weller now, dee Fairy ?” he 
asked, anxiously. 

“ Yes, darling,” said the poor mother, whose 
heartache dwindled all other pain to insignificance. 

A day or two after this she took him out for a 
short walk. It was a lovely morning and they both 
enjoyed stepping upon the velvety turf and breath- 
ing the delicious air. They sat down on one of the 
benches which were scattered about under the mag- 
nificent old trees. Soon they heard the sound of a 
horse’s hoofs. A rider appeared, dismounted, and 
came across the lawn toward them. 

“ Doctor Cameron !” cried Satia, springing up. 

“ I spied you out over here among all the green- 
ery,” he said, holding her hand for an instant, and 


234 


Morris Julians Wife, 


looking down at her with glad eyes. “ And this, I 
suppose, is our little laird ?” he continued, turning 
to Maynard, who stood regarding him with childish 
gravity. 

Satia smiled. 

Yes. Maynard, let me introduce you to my 
good friend. Doctor Kenneth Cameron, of St. Luke’s. 
You remember I have told you of all his little chil- 
dren there.” 

Any mother might have been proud of the ease 
and grace with which the boy lifted his cap from his 
sunny curls and extended his hand to the tall doctor. 

“ How do you do, doctor?” he said, politely. “ I 
hope all the little boys are getting well.” 

“ I hope so, too, Maynard,” replied Kenneth, tak- 
ing the proffered hand. “ They miss you, Mrs*. 
Julian.” He turned to Satia. When do you think 
you’ll be getting back again ?” 

“ I can hardly tell yet,” she said, hastily. “ But I 
am forgetting to be hospitable. Will you not come 
over to the house ?” 

He hesitated. He was on his way home by way 
of Glen Cairlie Station and a ten-mile horseback 
ride. He glanced at the sky. 

“ Thank you,” he answered. “ I’ll not deny myself 
the pleasure of a bit of friendly chat ; but I must be 
getting to the little mother by sunset.” 


“ My Dee Fairy. 


^35 


** Oh, then,” exclaimed Satia, “ you are going to 
Dunnoch Crags ? How glad Mrs. Cameron will be 
to see you! Maynard and I are going over to call 
on her in a few days. We had our first short drive 
yesterday.” 

They strolled back to the house, and the doctor 
passed a happy hour. They went over the castle, 
from the quaint old picture-gallery — where Morris’ 
portrait and Maynard’s, in its childish freshness, 
formed a striking contrast to the rest of the ancient 
lords and ladies — to the pretty room which he 
needed not to be told was Satia’s handiwork. 

She did tell him all about it, however, with a 
pride and interest pretty to see, and he listened as 
though his lifelong happiness depended on each 
word. The sun was fast nearing the topmost tree- 
twigs when he said good-bye and rode away. 

After this the days passed quietly but very 
delightfully for Satia and her son, until one morn- 
ing Janet came in, flushed and round-eyed with the 
news she brought. 

“ Oh, Miss Julia, whatever do you think ? Grand- 
mother has a letter from Lord Cairlie, and he’s 
cornin’ home to-morrow on the Edinburgh express, 
an’ he’s bringin’ Miss Fielding and another leddy 
wi’ him, an’ says the tower-room is to be made 
ready ; an’ granny says when could you please to 


236 


Morris Julians Wife, 


let her come an’ consoolt wi’ ye, if ye’d be so kind, 
miss ; an’, oh, do ye think it’s the bride he’s fetchin’ 
now ?” asked the girl, gasping with curiosity. 

Satia sat down suddenly. She felt as if the breath 
was leaving her body. 

“Tell Mrs. Boyd I’ll come to her room very 
soon,” she managed to say. 

She locked the door after Janet and went to the 
low couch where Maynard lay. Perfectly motion- 
less she stood watching him. The time, then, had 
come when she must look her last at the dear face ; 
must press a farewell kiss upon the sweet lips. 

All day long she assisted Mrs. Boyd, working 
with her own hands in feverish excitement. All 
night long she held Maynard in her arms. 

The next morning, just before his nap, she said to 
him : 

“ Maynard, kiss Fairy good-bye now. She is 
going to the village while you are asleep.” 

“ Good-bye, dee, darling Fairy !” he cried, throw- 
ing his arms around her neck and covering her 
face with kisses. “ Good-bye, and come back 
quick.” 

She sang him to sleep and laid him down. But 
she could not now stay to watch him, lest to leave 
him should become impossible. 

She packed her small trunk then, and after 


Kenneth Cameron, 


237 


saying to Mrs. Boyd that she was obliged to return 
immediately to St. Luke’s, she bade them adieu, and 
went to the station with Aleck when he drove down 
to meet the expected party. She had consulted a 
time-table, and knew that a train passed up just 
before the Edinburgh express came in. She boarded 
this, and was soon well on her way to Erlallach. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

KENNETH CAMERON. 

Kenneth Cameron galloped quickly along toward 
his mother’s home that evening with a heart as light 
as air. He had found Satia looking much better 
and happier, too, than when she left St. Luke’s, and 
he judged b}" Maynard’s appearance that she would 
soon be back there again. 

I’ll bring the mother over to see her to-morrow, 
if it’s a fine day, and we’ll take her for a drive — my 
sweet lassie.” 

Mrs. Cameron was cutting roses in her pleasant 
garden when she heard a well-known footstep 
behind her. The scissors and the roses flew 
unheeded to the ground, and the little white-haired 


238 


Morris J ulian's Wife, 


mother was clasped in the arms of her beloved “ lad- 
die.” They sat down together on a bench near by, 
with his arm still around her, and she passed her 
hands softly over his face and hair. At length, with 
a sigh of contentment, she laid her head against his 
breast. 

“Ah, Kenneth, my son, ye little know the glad- 
ness the very sight o’ ye brings to your mother. 
Ye’ve your father’s face, my lad, and just his big, 
faithful heart again. I only wish ye’d bring, a bon- 
nie wifie to the old home before I’m gone. 1 canna 
bide the thought o’ leavin’ ye alone, lad, and I’m 
getting an old woman now.” 

She felt his heart leap as she spoke, and she looked 
up quickly, to see a flush fading from his brow. He 
dropped his eyes, but he smiled consciously. 

“Now confess this very minute, ye sly rascal!” 
she cried. “ Is it this that ye’ve come home to tell 
me? Dinna be afraid, my boy. Ye’d never choose 
a maid that I couldna love.” 

Her cheeks were pink whh excitement and pleas- 
ure, her large eyes alight. 

Kenneth hesitated. How could he speak, even to 
his mother, of the dearest wishes of his heart ? And 
yet how could he bear to disappoint her fond impa- 
tience? 

“Yes, mother,” he said after a few minutes, “ I 


Kenneth Cameron, 


239 


have found the only woman I have ever wished to 
make my wife. But I’ve not told her that I love 
her. I — I — think she does not know me well enough 
yet.” 

He could not help smiling at the incredulous look 
which overspread his mother’s face. 

“ You must remember, mother, that I seem like 
just a big, rough fellow to everybody but you. And 
she — oh, she is the gentlest, sweetest, dearest lassie 
that walks the earth. But, mother,” he added, with 
a change of tone, “ you know her already. I quite 
forgot it for the moment. You know', and I’m sure 
that you must love Mrs. Julian. How could you 
help — ” 

He stopped, startled by her look of consterna- 
tion. 

“ Oh, no, Kenneth,” she cried, putting out her 
hand as if to ward off from him some impending 
misfortune, “ not Satia.” 

He regarded her in silent astonishment, unable 
to understand her words or her dismay. He waited 
for her to speak again. But she did not. 

‘‘ Why do you say that, mother ?” he asked then, 
sternly, the displeasure of the man clearly visible 
beneath the respect of the son. 

“ Do not ask me, Kenneth,” she replied, fairly 


240 


Morris Julians Wife, 


groaning in her distress at this most unlooked-for 
and unfortunate state of affairs. 

“ But I must know, mother.” 

“ Oh, my boy, why has no one told you that Satia 
is the wife of Lord Cairlie ?” 

He stared at her as though hearing but not com- 
prehending. 

“The wife of Morris Julian, mother?” he said, at 
last. “ It is incredible ; it cannot be. You surely 
are mistaken.” 

But, as he spoke, he recalled her unaccountable 
agitation when asked to go to the castle. If this 
was so, then Maynard must be her son ! What 
strange, tangled web of circumstance was this that 
seemed closing in around him and blotting all the 
sunshine from his life? 

“ It is true, Kenneth. Satia told me so herself. 
Oh, my son, my son !” 

He did not reply. He bore in silence and with 
outward composure this crushing blow. After a 
long time, he said, gently raising the small figure 
resting motionless against him : “ Poor little 

mother !” He carried her to the house and laid her 
on her bed. He busied himself about her, doing all 
that he could for her physical comfort. Then he 
kissed her and went away. 


Ke^ineth Cameron, 


241 


In the morning she found, pinned to her pilldw, a 
note from him : 

Tm off for a tramp across the moors, my best of 
mothers. I’ll be back in a week or so. Dinna 
worry your dear heart about me. 

Kenneth.” 

“ My brave lad !” she murmured, pressing the 
paper to her lips ; “ my poor, sair-hearted boy !” 

She tried to be brave, too ; but she felt that it 
would have been far easier to bear this terrible wrench 
at the happiness of her son had there been anything 
she could do to relieve his disappointment. 

It was ten days before Kenneth returned. Both 
mother and son bore marks of what they had been 
through with during that time, but each, for the 
other’s sake, tried to be cheerful. Kenneth spoke 
very soon of the matter that was uppermost in both 
their minds. 

“ Mother,” he said, “ Will you tell me all you can 
about it? I — 1 used to know Julian well, and it 
may be that something can be done to — to mend 
this wretched state of things between them.” 

Mrs. Cameron told him the whole of Satia’s 
patbetic story, with as much exactness as possible, 
and she felt that if she were violating a confidence in 
so doing, the act was justifiable in this case. Ken- 


242 


Morris Julia^is Wife, 


neth’s strong features glowed with various emo- 
tions as he listened. 

“Poor little lassie !” he said, softly ; “ poor, brave 
little woman !" 

Then he told his mother how he himself, all 
unknowing, had sent Satia to Castle Cairlie to nurse 
her own son in the person of the little laird ; how he 
had seen them together there ; how happy she 
seemed. To this he added the rumors he had 
repeatedly heard of the bride who was about to be 
brought there. Whether they had any foundation 
in fact, he did not know. 

“And this may account for her unanswered letter. 
Oh, Kenneth, how will she bear it ?” 

“ It may not be true, mother. God grant it is not, 
if she still loves him. Morris Julian, when I knew 
him ten years ago in Vienna, was the very incarna- 
tion of selfishness. He made the elements them- 
selves subserve his purposes, and apparently thought 
that the earth turned on its axis only to bring him 
day and night. He wooed and won every woman’s 
heart he chose, just for the pure love of showing 
his power over them, flinging them away as care- 
lessly as one might a faded flower. He was not the 
least bit of a profligate, though ; on the contrary, 
he scorned excesses of any kind, and prided him- 
self on being a cultured, polished moralist. I used 


Kenneth Cameron. 


243 


to think sometimes that he had but this one fault ; 
but it was an unpardonable one. I know him well, 
mother, and I’m going to see him and tell him all 
you’ve told me to-day. He must have loved Sa — 
his wife with his whole soul, to have submitted to 
the chains of marriage for her sake — and you may 
be sure he’s ready to atone, so far as a man can, for 
the wrong he has done her. He never should have 
married any woman.” 

‘‘ But he is not at Cairlie, Kenneth.” 

” I heard in the village that he is expected to-day, 
with guests.” 

“ Then where is Satia ?” asked Mrs. Cameron. 

‘‘That is what I must find out. If she is there, all 
will be well, you need not doubt. If she went back 
to Erlallach before he came, and he is not married 
again. I’ll send him to her. If there’s a new wife — 
God help my sweet lassie — I’ll bring her to you, 
mother.” 

“ Oh, Kenneth,” she faltered, “ you ask too much 
of me. I love Satia dearly ; but you, Kenneth, are 
m}^ all.” 

“Then do what I ask of you, mother. Give her a 
home in your heart and beneath your roof. Shield 
her from the prying, gossiping world of busybodies. 
Comfort and help and cherish her as no one but you 


can. 


244 


Morris Julian's Wife. 


But, you Kenneth ; even if I could do this for 
her, I cannot keep you from me as this surely would 
do.” 

“ No, mother ; but it would not be for always. 
There is nothing selfish or belittling in such a love 
as Satia Julian has inspired in my heart. I already 
am more of a man, and I shall be a better son to 
you, mother, for loving her.” 

He rose to his feet, and stood, erect and proud, 
before her. 

If she comes to you, and I warn you that 1 shall 
bring her if need be, I could not yet stay often near 
her. But I should be happier in knowing that she 
was here than any where else in the wide world.” 

His mother looked at him with kindling eyes. It 
was worth some suffering to see the nobleness of 
such a son. In her inmost self she considered him 
a far fitter mate lor Satia than the narrow-souled 
man who had made her his wife. Although she 
devoutly hoped that the necessity would not just 
yet be thrown upon her, she could not refuse him 
the promise he desired. 

Thank you, mother,” he said, coming close 
beside her. Now I must go to St. Luke’s. But 
as soon as I can get away, to-morrow, if possible, I 
shall see Julian. And I’ll come around this way 
afterward and let you know what has been done.” 


Christine, 


245 


Mrs. Cameron saw him start for the train ; then 
she sat down to mature a plan which she had been 
revolving in her mind for some time. 

She dreaded to think of the coming interview 
between the two men, and she determined to render 
it unnecessary by herself seeing Morris and tele- 
graphing the result of her visit to Kenneth. She 
ordered the wagonette to be brought around imme- 
diately. Just as she was on the point of leaving the 
house, she thought of Maynard and stepped to the 
garden to cut him a bunch of flowers. It was while 
there that a card bearing the name of Morris Julian 
was brought to her. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

CHRISTINE. 

After leaving Geneva, Morris had kept close 
watch of Satia’s movements while awaiting the 
arrival of Maynard and Kelsie, an event delayed for 
several reasons. 

In the first place, both Dorothy and Maynard 
were exposed to the scarlet fever the very week 
that Morris’ telegram reached New Orleans, and. 


246 


Morris Juliaiis Wife, 


of course, the little fellow could not be sent until the 
time for coming down with it should elapse. Both 
children fell ill, but not dangerously so. Still, their 
convalescence was extremely slow. Maynard, 
especially, did not regain his usual robust health, 
and his physician forbade his taking the long ocean 
journey during the winter. When, at length, the 
time for setting off drew near, Mrs. Fielding decided 
that she could better take him to his father herself. 

Morris had chafed impatiently under these 
repeated postponements of Maynard’s coming. He 
was more nearly provoked with his sister than ever 
before for what seemed to him her needless precau- 
tions. But Mary Fielding was every bit as deter- 
mined as Morris when need be, and he knew that 
she would do exactly as she thought best, in spite of 
his imperious telegrams. He had, moreover, the 
utmost confidence in her judgment, independently 
of its present conflict with his wishes, and he found 
the months as they passed much less tedious then 
they otherwise would have been, by reason of his 
nearness to Satia. 

He shadowed her, during that winter in Paris, like 
a detective ; he lived upon the frequent glimpses 
which he had of her, he became accomplished in the 
matter of disguises, and even ventured, in the char- 
acter of a blonde-wigged, spectacled German artist. 


Christine, 


247 


to wander about the Chateau of Chenonceau almost 
at her side. 

But he did not at all enjoy this sort of thing. The 
novel experience of being forced to such clap-trap 
masquerading by reason of another’s will, and that 
other his own wife, was exasperating in the extreme 
to a man of his temperament. He wondered at 
himself that he did it ; but, at the same time, he 
could not deny himself the unsatisfactory satisfaction 
of seeing her whenever it was possible. 

It was, therefore, with feelings of the greatest 
relief and gladness that he received a telegram from 
Mary, saying that they had taken passage for Havre 
and should arrive there early in March. He was 
on the dock to meet them, and took them at once 
to Paris. He detailed to his sister his plans for 
winning Satia through her son ; and she, entering 
into them heartily, declared herself willing to do 
everything in her power to aid him. 

Morris had made himself familiar with the neigh- 
borhood where Satia lived, and had engaged rooms 
for his party not far away. He had also learned the 
various masters who came to the house, and those 
to whom both she and Elsa went for lessons. 

It was arranged that Maynard should be taken 
out every day by Kelsie, under Morris’ direction, 
and that the route selected should be that over 


248 


Morris Juliaiis Wife, 


which Satia passed most frequently. Maynard was 
now in perfect health, and so beautiful a child as to 
attract attention anywhere. 

Morris had hig-h hopes of the success of this 
scheme; but, alas! on the very first morning after 
their arrival in Paris he discovered, to his 
unbounded chagrin and bitter disappointment, that 
“ madame and mademoiselle " had left the city. 
The polite, regretful concierge thought that they 
had gone to England, but could not be sure. 

Morris more than half suspected that Satia had 
been conscious of his espionage, having ‘‘shad- 
owed ” him in turn, and had taken immediate 
advantage of his brief absence. 

He went back to Mary, disconsolate, with his 
unwelcome tidings. By her advice he visited every- 
one who had been in any way connected with Satia, 
in the hope of finding some clue to her whereabouts. 
The singing-master was the only one who had the 
least bit of information. He remembered having 
heard madame say that she wished to take madem- 
oiselle to Algiers. This was but a straw, to be sure, 
but Morris seized it promptly, and left next day for 
that place, rather against his sister’s advice. 

“ Why don't you telegraph to the hotels ?” she 
asked him. 

“As though she were an escaped adventuress? 


Christine, 


249 


No, no ; I cannot do that, Mary. It will take but a 
few days to run over there.” 

She said no more. She saw plainly that he had 
reached a stage where inaction was impossible. 
While he had gone she wrote to Aunt Hester. She 
had heard, of course, all about that lady’s marriage, 
and she felt quite sure of getting direct news from 
Satia through her. An answer reached her the 
morning of Morris’ return from a fruitless journey. 
It told them of the prospective departure of the 
Nissen family for America. 

Satia is bringing Elsa home now, but I have no 
idea where they are at present. Our last letter was 
from Paris. Do use all your influence, dear Mrs. 
Fielding, to see our unhappy girl personally, and to 
induce her to return to her home. I have never 
realized, until my own happy marriage, what such 
a life as she is now living must mean.” 

Morris smiled as he handed the letter back to 
Mary. 

“ Your head is worth two of mine, dear. Let us 
go to Norway.” 

“ No, Morris ; let us write again to Mrs. Nissen. 
She will know by that time what Satia is going to 
do. We might have our long journey for nothing. 
Remember that you are not at all sure of persuad- 
ing her to see you, even through Maynard.” 


250 


Mo7'ris Julianas Wife, 


He consented to this, reluctantly. While waiting 
for a reply to this second letter, he received the 
most unexpected information of his succession to 
the seldom-thought-of house and estate of Cairlie. 
Matters in connection with this required his 
presence at once in Edinburgh. He arrived there 
some time in advance of Satia, and took advantage 
of a good opportunity to have Maynard’s portrait 
painted. He had already conceived the idea of 
sending one to Satia, in case she could or would not 
be reached by the child himself. It was ordered, 
however, ostensibly for the family gallery at Cairlie. 
Soon after their arrival at the castle, in early April, 
they received the expected letter from Aunt Hester. 

She gave the following week as their sailing date, 
and she had no notion of what Satia was going to 
do. She wrote very briefly, which Morris and 
Mary ascribed to her busy last days ; but, in reality, 
she was determined to keep them from pursuit of 
Satia. She had just passed through the trying 
scene in which the misery of the heart-broken 
woman had turned the tide of her sympathy. 
Before going on board the steamer, she took Chris- 
tine aside and charged her over and over again to 
tell no one where Satia had gone. 

“She needs rest: she is ill and she must not be 
disturbed. When she wishes, she will let her 


Christine. 


251 


friends hear from her. This is very important, dear 
Tina, and 1 am going to ask you to see that the 
boys. Ole and Eric, give no information if anyone 
should come seeking her. 

Christine promised readily enough. She had 
always admired Satia, although she could not help 
perceiving that she avoided her as much as possible. 
In consequence of this precaution of Aunt Hester’s, 
for which she afterward suffered more than one 
twinge of conscience, when Morris arrived in 
Bergen shortly after her departure he was unable 
to find out anything concerning Satia. Eric and 
Ole, happening to see him leave the train, went off 
on a fishing trip. Christine could not help smiling 
at the little note her husband sent her. “A man 
can run away so easily, but a woman must meet 
trouble face to face,” she thought. 

Almost at that very moment a knock was heard, 
and she opened the door to find herself looking 
into Morris’ well-remembered countenance. 

They exchanged cordial greetings, and she invited 
him to enter. 

As he did so, and during the few minutes of 
general conversation which followed, he studied her 
even more closely than he had done on his previous 
visit to her father’s house. He was trying to dis- 


252 


Morris J uliaris Wife, 


cover the best way to win her over, in case, as he 
thought very likely, Satia had forewarned her. 

Simple-hearted and sincere ; easily worked 
upon,” was his conclusion. 

“ I have come to Bergen, Mrs. Jansen,” he began, 
courteously, “ to see Mrs. Julian. I find that she 
has moved from her cottage, and I feel sure that 
you can direct me to her present home.” 

“ I am not able to do so, Mr. Julian,” she replied. 

“ But she — do you mean? — surely she did not go 
to America with your father’s family ?” he asked, 
with ill-concealed anxiety. 

“ Oh, no, sir !” 

“ I understood as much from your — from Mrs. 
Nissen,” he remarked. “ 1 think that Mrs. Julian 
was here last week, when they sailed, was she not?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

Is she at this time in Bergen?” he next inquired, 
beginning to be rather annoyed at these brief 
answers. 

She is not, sir.” 

Do you know where she had gone ?” 

“ Yes, sir,” said Christine. 

Morris jumped up and walked to the window, 
biting his lip with vexation. Was this stupidity or 
stubbornness? He turned to her again. 

I beg that you will pardon my persistence, my 


Christine. 


253 


dear Mrs. Jansen,” he began, suavely, “ but it is 
really very important that I see Mrs. Julian ; 
important for her best interests, I mean. Please be 
kind enough to tell me where I can find her.” 

“ I cannot do that, Mr. Julian.” 

A dangerous gleam shot from his eyes, which 
were showing their steel very plainly now. He 
glanced sharply at her, making no secret of his 
impatience. 

“ Let me understand you, if you please. You 
mean that you know where Mrs. Julian is and yet 
refuse to tell me ?’ 

“ Yes, sir,” answered Christine, composedly. 

‘‘Did she ask you to do this?” he questioned, 
after a short silence. 

“ Oh, no, sir.” 

Morris was white by this time. Mingled with his 
disappointment was a quick sense of anger that this 
girl should dare to brave him so. 

“ Then why,” he cried hotly, “ do you not tell me 
what I wish so much to know ?” 

Christine did not reply. She was looking out of 
the window. A small, white-headed boy was pass- 
ing. She threw up the sash and called to him. 
Speaking rapidly a few words in Norwegian, she 
tore a scrap of paper from a sheet on the table near 
by, wrote a line or two on it, and handed it to the 


254 


Morris Julians Wife, 


lad. He nodded, on hearing her directions^ and ran 
off down the street. 

Then she turned to Morris, who had been watch- 
ing the proceeding with a good deal of curiosit}^ 
not unmingled with suspicion. 

“ I have promised, but not madame,” she said. 

“ Who then ?” he demanded, instantly. 

Christine hesitated. She had not been asked by 
Mrs. Nissen to keep this a secret ; but she felt 
instinctively that she had better do so. 

“ I do not wish to tell you, sir.” 

“ But,” exclaimed Morris, springing from his chair 
in great excitement, do you not understand ? Girl, 
I am her husband — 1 have a right to know these 
things.” 

Christine arose instantly. Her cheeks were white, 
too. 

“ Please to remember, Mr. Julian, to whom you 
are speaking.” 

Morris was at her side at once, contrite, ashamed. 

“ I do beg your pardon with my whole heart, Mrs. 
Jansen. I forgot myself completely for the moment. 
You would surely forgive me, if — if you knew — how 
long — how much — how much 1 want to see her.” 

Christine made no reply. 

He suddenly remembered the note she had writ- 
ten. His suspicions were again aroused. 


Christine, 


255 


“To whom did you send that note?” he asked. 

“To my husband,” Christine, answered. 

“ And did you tell him to keep out of my reach T 
came quickly from his lips. 

“ I did,” she said, with the tiniest bit of a smile. 

Again he walked to the window. 

“ And you did well, by Jove,” he was saying to 
himself. “ There’s not a man alive who could 
baffle me as you do, confound you.” 

In spite of his excessive irritation, however, he 
could but admire the courage and skill which, with 
all her simplicity, she had shown during the inter- 
view. She answered every question truthfully, and 
yet she told him nothing. He felt his old instinct 
of conquest rising hot within him. He longed to 
lay siege to the strong, determined will of this blue- 
eyed maiden, so serene and dauntless; to win it 
over, step by step, slowly, delightfully, until she 
should no longer be able to look at him so stead- 
fastly and refuse him what he asked. But his love 
for his wife was more potent than even this life- 
long habit. He came and seated himself quite near 
Christine once more. 

“ I will be entirely frank with you, Mrs. Jansen. 
Some time ago there were unfortunate differences 
between my wife and myself, all of which were my 
own fault. I — I have not seen her for some months, 


256 


Morris Julian's Wife. 


and I am most anxious to do so in order to beg her 
forgiveness.” 

Christine was listening attentively. This, then, 
was the reason why the beautiful madame was 
always so sad. Her affectionate heart swelled with 
sympathy. How truly dreadful it must be not to 
feel kindly toward one’s own dear husband ! She 
could not imagine such a state of things between 
Ole and herself. She said nothing, however, and 
Morris continued ; 

“ But it is not only 1. Our little boy — he needs 
his mother.” 

Christine looked up quickly now. “ Our little 
boy.” Ah ! that was sad, indeed. Some day, some 
happy day before the Christmas snows should fall, 
there might be one lying in her arms of whom she 
and Ole could say : “ Our little boy.” 

Morris had, all unconsciously, touched a chord 
which vibrated tenderly beneath his words. His 
companion trembled and grew pale. Her eyes 
were raised to his just as unflinchingly, but they 
were full of tears. 

“ I am sorry for you, Mr. Julian, and for madame. 
For the — little lad — my heart aches. But I cannot 
tell you where his mother is, for I have given my 
word, and Norwegian girls are taught to keep a 
promise. Please to go away now, Mr. Julian. I 


Kelsie s Discovery. 


257 


cannot help you, even though I wish it. Ask the 
good Father to direct you. Good-bye!” 

Morris stood in silence before her simple dignity. 
He took her hand and pressed it to his lips in 
humble reverence. Then, still without a word, he 
left her. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 
kelsie’s discovery. 

He waited about Bergen for several days but saw 
nothing of either Eric or Ole, and finally concluded 
to return to Edinburgh. He was at his wits’ end to 
know what to do next. 

His sister suggested that a letter be sent to Aunt 
Hester asking for Satia’s address, and that they all 
go to the Continent while the needed repairs were 
. being made at Castle Cairlie, preparatory to their 
occupancy in the fall. 

Thev did so, but after a few weeks Morris became 
restless and went again to Bergen. This time he 
had the great good fortune to find Erika, upon 
whom no conditions of silence had been imposed. 
Christine and Ole were away for a sort of visit to 
the hill country. So Morris had the delight of hear- 


258 


Mo7'ris Jtdian's Wife, 


ing from another pair of lips the history of those 
eventful days onboard the Sea Gull; and — more 
precious knowledge still— of learning where Satia 
had gone from Bergen; also, that she had come 
down from the mountain scarcely two weeks before, 
and had left Bergen on the Hull steamer. He lost 
no time in following her to that place. Further 
than that he could not trace her. But it was some- 
thing to have got such recent tidings as these. Sev- 
eral weeks and months now passed without hearing 
of her in any way. Even Aunt Hester, from whom 
a number of letters had been received since her 
return to America, could tell him nothing. Satia 
no longer wrote to her. 

In early winter Kelsie and Maynard returned to 
Castle Cairlie, but Mrs. Fielding remained abroad 
with Clover, who was spending a year in Europe 
with her husband and little Dorothy. Morris spent 
his time largely in Edinburgh, in the hope of getting 
some clue to Satia’s whereabouts ; for he had heard 
of a lady’s looking at Maynard’s portrait with much 
emotion, and he had no doubt that she was his 
mother. He still clung tenaciously to his theory of 
winning her through Maynard ; he was also confi- 
dent that she must have learned of his residence in 
Scotland, and he tried to wait patiently for the 
betrayal of her presence which he believed she 


Kelsies Discovery, 


259 


would surely make. The spring and the summer 
days followed but slowly. Then came an urgent 
invitation from Clover and Mary to join them in a 
yachting expedition on the Mediterranean. He had 
so often refused requests similar to this that he had 
not the heart to decline this one. He was' the more 
inclined to accept it from the fact that Marie Fonten- 
elle had returned to Paris, and he hoped to learn 
something of Satia from her. Several letters which 
he had written to her had remained unanswered, 
and he was anxious to see her in person. So he 
went, and it was during this time that Satia’s little 
“ olive-branch” went wandering from place to place, 
following its intended recipient all the way around 
to his Scottish home. 

The Edinburgh express rolled up to the Glen 
Cairlie station promptly at noon of the day that 
Satia left the castle. The party drove home quickly. 
Morris, although assured by Doctor Murray’s daily 
telegrams of Maynard’s progress toward recovery, 
was extremely impatient to see him. He was met 
by Janet, who led the way to the new room, slip- 
ping off then to attend to the wants of the ladies. 
He stepped to the bedside and looked at his son. 
The glow of health was on cheek and lip ; his gentle, 
regular breathing told of sweet sleep. 

Then the father gazed about the room in aniaze- 


26 o 


Morris Julians Wife. 


meat. Whose work was this ? Surely a woman’s 
hand had been busy here. He called Janet, and 
asked that the new nurse be sent to him. 

“ Oh, if you please, sir, Miss Julia went away this 
morning.” 

“ Why did she go to-day ^ Who is here in her 

place? Murray should not have allowed it. 1 

Send Boyd to me, Janet. 1 do not understand this 
at all.” 

He walked about the room again while waiting. 
Nothing had been disturbed since Satia left it 
scarcely two hours before. Everywhere he saw 
evidences of loving thoughtfulness, of exquisite 
taste. Again he stood by Maynard’s side. Stoop- 
ing; he pressed a soft kiss upon his boy’s rosy cheek, 
and no whisper came to him of the lips that had 
last rested there. As yet no faint suspicion of 
“Miss Julia’s” identity had dawned upon him. 
Still he felt a vague impression of mystery in con- 
nection with the transformation of his lumber-room 
into this charming apartment. Mrs. Boyd came in 
soon. She told him that “ Miss Julia ” had, indeed, 
done all the wonderful work, and, in addition, she 
related much in her praise. 

“But why did she leave this morning? Surely 
she knew that we were coming?” 

“ Oh, yes, sir. She helped me get everything 


Kelsie s Discovery, 


261 


ready ; an’ then she came all sudden-like an’ told us 
she had to go back to the hospital, an’ she told us 
good-bye like the real leddy she is, an’ went off wi’ 
Aleck when he went doon for you.” 

Just then Maynard opened his eyes. He screamed 
with delight at sight of his father. 

Wrapped in a pretty dressing-gown, the work of 
Satia’s- fingers, he was soon cuddled down in 
Morris’ arms, feeling very happy to be again in his 
loved resting-place. Presently he sat up and looked 
inquiringly around. 

“ AVhere is Fairy, papa ?” 

“ Who is Fairy, my son ?” asked Morris, in sur- 
prise. 

“ Why, Fairy is my dee nurse — don’t you know ? 
Her truly name is Miss Julia, but 1 call her Fairy, 
’cause she made me this lovely room just the way 
Cind’ella’s fairy made her such booful fings out of a 
big pumpkin. Don’t you ’member, papa, and don’t 
you fink it is nice in here now ?” 

“ Yes, Maynard, your Fairy is certainly a very 
kind and skillful one.” 

“ But papa, why don’t she come ? I want her. 
Oh, 1 ’member now. She went to the village, but 
she’ll come back pitt,y soon.” 

He rested his head contentedly against his father’s 
breast and softly patted his hand. Before long he 


262 


Morris Julians Wife, 


sat up again, his eyes sparkling with the question 
which had just entered his active little brain. 

“ Papa, did you find my dee mamma ?” 

Morris pressed him to his heart. 

“ No, my son." 

“ I telled Fairy ’bout it one day, an* she said I 
must be a good boy to you an’ my new mamma ’’ 

“ Your ‘ new mamma?’ ’’ cried Morris, amazed. 

“ That is what Fairy telled me — I ’member ’zackly 
that was the time she cried so hard ’cause her head 
ached. But I made it well adain for her. Fairy is 
just as nice as a mamma, an’ she sings all the times 
I ask her. Don’t you fink she’ll come pitty soon 
now, papa ?’’ 

“ I cannot tell, Maynard, but I hope so. I want 
to thank her for all this that she has done for my 
little boy. What do you suppose I have brought 
you, Maynard ? Something alive and very nice.’’ 

“ Oh, I know ; a dog.’’ 

“ No.’’ 

“ A pony, papa ?’’ 

“ No.’’ 

“ A — a — not a kitty-puss ?’’ 

“ No. It has only two feet.’’ 

“ A hen," said the child, promptly. 

“ No," replied Morris, laughing. ‘‘ It has no 
feathers, but long, golden hair." 


Kelsies Discovery, 263 

Maynard’s look of eagerness and curiosity were 
charming to see. 

“ Oh, papa, I can’t imagine. A dolly ?” 

“ No, dear, not a dolly doll, but a true little dolly 
— your cousin Dorothy.” 

“ Oh, my dee Dolly, my dee Dolly !” he exclaimed, 
using the name he had first given her. Just at that 
moment “ dee Dolly ” came running in, as fresh and 
sweet as a rose. The two children greeted each 
other with delight, and were soon playing about the 
floor. Janet came, in to look after them, and Morris 
went to see Kelsie. The meeting between them 
was almost like that of mother and son. After 
a little talk about the accident, she asked ; 

Master Morris, did ye see our bonnie leddy ?” 

“ No, Kelsie. Sometimes I think that I never 
shall again.” 

Come sit close here by me, laddie,” she whis- 
pered ; then : “ I’ve not seen her either, but unless 
my auld ears have deceived me sair. I’ve heard her 
sweet voice under this very roof less than twelve 
hours ago.” 

Morris sprang to his feet. 

“ Hush ye, my bairn,” said the old woman, seiz- 
ing his hand, sit ye doon agen an’ listen to me. 
When I ’gan to get eased o’ the cuttin’ pains, an’ to 
have a grain o’ sense in my auld head agen, I heerd 


264 Morris Julia 7 i's Wife. 

o’ the wonderfu’ doin’s o’ Master Maynard’s new 
tangled nurse fro’ the big hospital, but I’d not the 
least notion o’ her bein’ his own blessed mother 
until las’ night. It was still, an’ the win’ a-comin’ | 
fair in these windows, an’ I heerd a soft, sweet singin’. 

I kenned that voice in a minute, an’ I kenned in a | 
flash why she would never come to see me an’ let | 
me take her by the han* an’ thank her for all her 
kindness to our little lad. I tried my verra best to 
get up an’ go in there, but my poor auld bones 
wouldna move. So I jus’ lay an’ listened, an’ 
thanked the good Lord that He’d brought her back 
agen. An’ when ’twas broad day I fell asleep, an’ 
when I woke up agen, Master Morris, they told me 
that she had gone back to the hospital. For how 
could she stay here even for the bairnie’s sake, when 
she’s heerd all this meserable gossip aboot the new 
bride you’re bringing home wd’ ye ?” 

Morris listened eagerly, intently, incredulously, i 
Could it be ? Maynard’s Fairy and his mother one 
and the same? And yet, could it be any other hand 
than hers who had wrought so much for him? The 
man’s pulses beat heavily ; his brain seemed on fire. 
He rushed from the room, saddled his horse, and 
rode at full speed to Dr. Murray’s office to get from 
him what information he might regarding Miss 
Julia. Luckily, that gentleman was at home. 


Kelsies Discovery. 


265 


“ I really know nothing, Mr. Julian, excepting that 
she came from St. Luke’s, highly recommended by 
Dr. Cameron. And you have reason to be grateful 
to her, if ever a man did. If she had been May- 
nard’s own mother, she could not have done more 
for him. Why she went off in this fashion, I have 
not the least idea. You’ll doubtless find her at 
Erlallach.^’ 

Morris endeavored to conceal, so far as he was 
able, the strong excitement under which he was 
laboring. He returned to Castle Cairlie to arrange 
for leaving immediately for Erlallach. His promise 
never to seek Satia, unsummoned, was forgotten. 
He thought of nothing but her presence that very 
day beneath his roof, and his determination to bring 
her back again without delay. He found dinner on 
the table. 

“We did not wait for you, Morris,” Mary said. 
“ Wherever have you been in such a hurry ?” 

He did not answer her. He was reading a little 
travel-stained missive, covered with post-marks and 
re directions. 

Ten minutes later he was on his way to Dunnoch 
Crags. 



CHAPTER XXV, 

VAIN SEARCHINGS. 

Mrs. Cameron, in coming in from the garden, 
found Morris Julian impatiently pacing the veranda. 
He came directly to her, hat in hand. 

“My wife, Mrs. Julian,” he said at once, forgetting 
conventionalities in his eagerness — “ is she here ?” 

He read her reply in her face before she spoke. 

“No, Mr. Julian. Your wife left here several 
weeks ago, to return to St. Luke’s hospital at 
Erlallach.” 

“ And she left Cairlieonly this morning? Would 
to God I had come down from Edinburgh last night, 
as I at first intended. Perhaps you will tell me 
when the first train leaves for Erlallach, Mrs. Cam- 
eron. I must lose no time in getting there.” 

“ There is no train until evening. I will send you 
to the station in ample time. Come in now, Mr. 
Julian, and rest awhile.” 

She saw that he was faint and unnerved. He 
[266] 


Vain Searchings, 


267 


followed her into her pleasant sitting-room, and 
partook of the cordial and other refreshments she 
offered him. 

“ You are very kind,” he said, when he could 
control the tremble in his voice. 

“ I love your wife, Mr. Julian.” She saw his lips 
quiver. “ Her mother was my dearest friend when 
we were girls, and Satia, in her trouble, came to me 
as she might have gone to that mother. She told 
me the whole unhappy history of her married life, 
and here, at that desk, she wrote a letter to you, 
bidding you come to her.” 

“ It is that that brought me,” interrupted Morris, 
quickly. “ 1 only received it an hour ago. It has 
been chasing me half over Europe, with most unac- 
countable delays.” 

Mrs. Cameron hesitated. She hardly knew how 
much or how little to tell him ; whether gentle 
measures or harsher ones were best. She was 
moved by pity for him, indignation against him, 
sympathy for Satia, and a great flood of tender 
yearning over her own suffering boy. 

At length she said : 

“Mr. Julian, did you know that rumors of your 
approaching marriage are all through the country 
here, especially in the neighborhood of Castle 
Cairlie ?” 


268 


Morris Julians Wife. 


“To my infinite annoyance, I do. There will be 
little more of it from those over whom I have 
authority, you may be sure. Do you think, Mrs. 
Cameron, can it be that this is th-e cause of Satia’s 
leaving ?” 

“ Without doubt ; that, together with her 
unanswered letter. She was here until she could 
endure the suspense no longer. Then she went 
back to her work ; work, Mr. Julian, that she under- 
took in expiation of the wrong she did to her own 
child. My son, who is physician-in-charge at St. 
Luke’s sent her to nurse Maynard, in ignorance of 
her relations to him.” 

“Your son! Is Kenneth Cameron your son, 
madame ? I used to know him well in Vienna, years 
ago. He was a fine fellow,” said Morris, warmly. 

“ He is a fine fellow now,” said his mother, with 
a pathetic little break in her voice. 

“ I heard last spring that he was at St. Luke’s, 
and came very near going over to see him.” 

“ Oh, if you only had,” she groaned in spirit, “ all 
this sad business might have been prevented.” 
Aloud she said : 

“ You will find him there now, and I pray that 
you may find Satia, too. She needs a great deal of 
love and tender devotion to make up for all that she 
has been through with, Mr. Julian.” 


Vain Searchmgs, 


269 


“ No man can give her more than I offer her, and 
no man is more unworthy her least favor,” he 
replied, so humbly that Mrs. Cameron’s heart was 
touched. “ For her sake and our boy’s, I am will- 
ing to efface myself so far as possible, if she will 
only consent to come back to us.” 

She could not forbear saying : 

“ I think you will find her ready to meet you 
more than half-way. She, as well as you, made 
mistakes. I am quite sure, too, that she was not 
thinking wholly of herself, nor yet of Maynard, 
when she wrote to you.” 

She smiled, and Morris seized her hands in a 
transport of joy. 

“ God bless you for those words,” he exclaimed. 
“They are the first cheering ones 1 have hea»-d in 
all this weary time.” 

It was quite late that evening when a card was 
brought in to Doctor Cameron, at his office at St. 
Luke’s. He read it, then straightened himself, and 
set his lips firmly. 

“ It has come sooner than I expected,” he thought, 
as he opened the door of the reception-room, where 
Morris waited. 

The greeting was cordial on the part of Morris ; 
courteous on the part of Kenneth. The latter led 


270 


Morris Julian's Wife, 


the way back to the office, and when they were 
seated, Morris said : 

“ I have just come from your mother, Cameron. 
1 hoped to find my wife, who left Castle Cairlie 
shortly before my arrival there to-day, at Dunnoch 
Crags. But she was not there. I — I hope — is — is 
she here, Cameron ?” 

He spoke quietly, but his excitement was plainly 
visible. 

“ Mrs. Julian had been gone from here some time 
when I returned late this afternoon,” answered Ken- 
neth. “ I found this note on my desk.” 

He took a paper from the table, and handed it to 
Morris, who read as follows : 

“ Dear Doctor Cameron : With this 1 leave for 
you my resignation as nurse at St. Luke’s hospital. 
I thank you with all my heart for your exceeding 
kindness. It will always be remembered by your 
grateful friend, 

“ Satia Maynard Julian.” 

The note fell from Morris’ hand. He looked 
piteously at Kenneth. 

Can you tell me where she has gone?” he asked. 

“ I cannot,” said Kenneth, slowly, bending an 
ivory paper-knife until it snapped. “ Mrs. Julian 
left no other word than this. I found, however, in 


271 


Vain Searchings. 

the evening post-bag, a letter addressed to my 
mother. That may possibly tell of her intended 
movements.” 

“ Thank you. I will go to Dunnoch Crags imme- 
diately.” 

Both men arose. They shook hands in silence. 
Words were difficult for each of them. 

Morris reached the pretty stone cottage early 
next morning. The brief note which Mrs. Cameron 
had received gave him no information, and he set 
out for home with a face so sad that his kind hostess 
pitied him. 

By the next train Kenneth came. Tears filled his 
eyes as he read the few touching words Satia had 
hurriedly written to his mother. 

“Dear, Dear Friend: You know already, per- 
haps, why I can no longer stay in Scotland. I will 
let you hear from me some time, but do not expect 
it very soon. Your loving 

“ St. Lukes, Oct. 20, 1881. “ Satia.” 

He sat for some time in deep thought. Then he 
said : 

“ We must find her, mother. I believe she will 
sail for America. I can catch the steamer which 
leaves Glasgow to-morrow, and the chances are that 
she will be on it. But you will telegraph to Liver^ 


272 


Morris Jtilians Wife. 


pool, will you not, and to Queenstown, in case she 
has gone there? We can reach her even there, 1 
think. If there’s such a thing possible, we’ll not let 
her out of the kingdom without trying to bring her 
back to happiness.” 

“ But, Kenneth, she may have gone to the Nor- 
way mountains she loves so well.” 

“Yes; then telegraph to the Wilsons, at Hull; 
but I think we’ll not find her there. She’s not the 
woman to sit down idly now, she’ll be in some good 
work somewhere, bless her heart.” 

Alisan Cameron went to her son. She took his 
head between her hands, and looked deep into the 
steady eyes which returned her gaze so frankly. 

“ Ah, my laddie,” she said, “ how will ye bear it 
an’ ye find her ?” 

“ How will she bear it an’ I do not, mother?” he 
answered, instantly. “ Where it is question between 
her happiness and mine, 1 can endure anything.” 

He made inquiries at the steamship-office immedi- 
ately on reaching Glasgow. The Circassia had but 
just left the dock. The clerk ran over the passen- 
ger-list. 

“No, sir. I see no such name as Mrs. Satia 
Julian.” 

“ Will you kindly wire me if she takes passage 
within a week or two ?” 


Vam Searchings. 273 

“ Certainly, sir. Address, please.” 

“ Kenneth Cameron, St. Luke’s, Erlallach.” 

As he turned away from the desk, he glanced for 
the first time at a gentleman who had stood close 
beside him during this conversation. 

It was Morris, and Kenneth knew that he must 
have overheard every word. He flushed quickly 
and made his way out of the room on to the now 
deserted wharf. He walked rapidly to the very 
end. Immediately he became aware that Morris 
was following him. 

‘‘ Why are you here, Cameron ?” that gentleman 
asked him, haughtily. “ What right have you to 
be pursuing my wife in such a way as this?” 

Kenneth, big of stature and big of heart, looked 
down at the slight figure, the pale, excited face, the 
eyes now flashing fire of the man whom he had 
never respected, whom he scarcely, even now, 
pitied, but who, after all, was Satia’s husband and 
who must have something admirable and noble in 
his nature since she loved him. For her dear sake, 
he could, he would, endure anything. 

So he said quietly : 

“ 1 hoped to prevent her leaving Scotland.” 

“ But why — why, I should like to ask, have you 
any right to interfere with her goings and com- 
ings ?” he demanded, furious with anger at Ken- 


2 74 Morris Julian's Wife, 

neth’s coolness, and a suspicion of something more 
than met the eye in his unaccountable presence here 
at this time. 

“ I have no right to interfere in any way with 
Mrs. Julian.” 

His tones were quiet enough ; but the expression 
of his face as he spoke her name betrayed him. 

Morris started as though he had been shot. 

“ You !” he cried — “ you love her !” 

Kenneth bared his head ; he looked Morris full 
in the face and smiled. 

“ And she ?” gasped Morris, trembling, his hand 
clenched. 

“ My mother tells me that she loves her husband,” 
replied Kenneth, steadily. 

“ And yet you are trying to keep her here ? 
Men are not usually so magnanimous,” said Morris, 
scornfully. 

It was now Kenneth’s turn to feel the hot blood 
rush in a torrent to his cheeks. The sneer in Mor- 
ris’ words and manner aroused all his hot temper. 
He looked off across the water, and could he have 
known whose eyes were looking back toward Scot- 
land, from the deck of the fast-disappearing Circas- 
sia, his loving heart would have beat with mightier 
throbs than those which now shook him from head 
to foot. He did not know ; but he thought of her 


Vain Searchings. 


275 

and of the beautiful boy he had seen with her under 
the trees of the Cairlie forest. And his anger died 
away. Only love and pity and great sorrow filled 
his breast. He turned to Morris and said, quite 
gently : 

1 think that Mrs. Julian has a son at Castle 
Cairlie.’’ 

The face of his boy rose before Morris. He 
heard again his wistful words — “ I want my Fairy.” 
His jealous passion cooled before the noble spirit of 
Kenneth’s reply. The strong impulse to pitch Ken- 
neth over into the water, which he had barely 
resisted, subsided. He looked into the fine, strong 
face ; he felt suddenly drawn to this man who loved 
Satia, but could never even hope to win her. All 
that was noble in his own nature — and there was 
much — came uppermost now. The “ Cameron 
way ” had won. He extended his hand, saying, 
with a sincerity which could not be mistaken : 

“ Forgive me. You alone of us two are worthy 
of her.” 

And as they stood there, hand in hand in a hearty 
clasp, the Circassia passed beyond their sight, bear- 
ing Satia far from Scottish shores. 

The next six months were spent by them both in 
trying to find her. Morris was willing now to 
advertise openly, though in terms which would be 


276 


Morris Julians Wife. 


intelligible to her alone ; he also caused an explicit 
denial of his rumored marriage to be published j 
extensively both in Europe and America ; he wrote 
personally to every one whom he thought likely to j 
have the least knowledge of her movements. But j 
all his efforts were fruitless. Month after month 
went by until a year had rolled around since the I 
precious little letter had made its tardy way to his 
hand. Mary Fielding had returned to New Orleans 
with Clover and little Doroth}^ and one day Morris 
took Maynard over to Dunnoch Crags, to bid Mrs. 
Cameron good-bye. He had been, during all this 
weary time, a frequent and a welcome visitor to the 
sweet old lady, who had become very fond of him. 

Out of the selfishness, the egotism, the narrow- 
heartedness of his former self a new and nobler 
character was being evolved. He was growing to 
be a manly man, whom a woman like Kenneth’s 
mother could respect and love. She had been the 
greatest possible help and comfort to him, and it 
was with the deepest regret that he came to take his 
leave of her. 

I have arranged,” he told her, to lease Castle 
Cairlie for a term of years. Young Harold Ramsay 
will be your neighbor, and he is a fine fellow, I 
believe.” 


Vain Searchings. 


277 


Indeed he is. I know him well and all his family 
before him. But, Morris, I’ll miss ye sair.” 

The simple words, simply spoken, meant a great 
deal, and Morris knew it. Tears filled his eyes — a 
rare thing with him, and a sign of keen emotion. 

“Yes,” he replied; “but I must go. If I cannot 
share my life with Satia, I can at least try to make 
it worthy of her. So far I have been a trifler, 
except for the few first months after Maynard came. 
Now I am going to work in an earnest way out in 
the wilds of our Western country. There is every 
opportunity in that region for a man to make some- 
thing of himself. I shall brush up my legal lore — 
perhaps you will not believe that I studied law in 
my youthful days — and hang out my shingle with 
the rest.” 

He spoke lightly at the last, but he did not mean 
what he said in any light spirit. Mrs. Cameron in- 
vited them to spend the last day or two with her, and 
Kenneth came home. A firm friendship had grown 
up between the two men, to Morris’ never-ending 
surprise. Once he would have been ready to tear in 
pieces any man who dared to raise even so much as 
an admiring glance toward his wife; but there was 
something so frank, so high, so pure about Kenneth’s 
love for her that so petty a thing as jealousy could 
not live in the same atmosphere. 


278 


Morris Julians Wife. 


The farewell words between the three were few. 
Nearly all fell to Maynard’s share. The child had 
never ceased to mourn for his “ dee Fairy.” He 
often prayed that he might find her again in the 
new home for which he and his father set sail one 
beautiful October morning. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

“ UNSERHEIM.” 

When “Miss Julia” left Castle Cairlie, she felt an 
instinctive desire which increased with each mile 
travelled, to get as far as possible from Maynard, and 
to bury herself somewhere beyond reach of discov- 
ery by anyone ever connected with her past. She 
determined to catch the first westward-bound 
steamer, and was fortunate to find the Circassia on 
the point of leaving. It was when she stood in the 
steamship office that the thought of taking her 
mother’s name first occurred to her. After she had 
spoken it, and seen it written down, she drew a 
long breath of relief. The first step, and a long one, 
had been taken toward the effacement of Satia 
Julian and all her unhappy memories. 


“ Unserheim. 


279 


As Jeanie Sutherland she would assume the bur- 
den of life anew ; but she did not yet know how nor 
where. She had made no plans, not even so far as 
to decide where to go on reaching New York. She 
had simply obeyed a hurrying, overmastering 
impulse to get away, far away from Scotland. She 
believed that she had descended to the very farthest 
depths of suffering. Whatever the future years 
might have in store, no moment could exceed in 
bitterness the one in which she left her boy’s bed- 
side, and the roof to which her husband was, even 
then, returning. 

Day after day she lay in her low steamer-chair, 
paying slight heed to what was passing around her. 
But one morning something occurred to break the 
monotony of the voyage, and to give direction 
to her thoughts. One of the ship’s officers came 
quite near her with a neatly but poorly-dressed lit- 
tle girl, perhaps four years old, in his arms, and 
Satia learned, from his conversation with some 
ladies, that her mother was in the steerage, lying at 
the point of death. Interested at once, she went to 
the captain, and asked permission to go below, 
explaining that she was a nurse of some experience. 

One glance at the drawn, pallid face told her that 
but a few hours of life, at most, remained to the 
sufferer. With gentle hands she ministered to all 


28 o 


Morris Julian's Wife. 


her needs. As she sat near, fanning her and con- 
stantly moistening her parched lips, the great, dark- 
circled eyes of the mother were fixed upon Satia’s 
face with the strangely searching, earnest gaze, 
which is only seen in those who are very near to 
the borders of the Shadowy Valley. She seemed 
to be reading her through and through. Presently 
she laid her hand on Satia’s, and tried to draw 
her closer : 

“ My little girl,” she whispered. 

She is here,” said Satia, pointing to an adjacent 
berth, “ sleeping nicely.” 

“ Yes, but — that is — what — I ” 

Here she was overcome by faintness, and it 
some time before she could speak again. 

“You wished to say something,” Satia said to her 
then. 

“ Oh, ma’am — my little Daisy — there is — no one 
— to send her back to — I — her father.” She waited 
some minutes. “ I was going — to — him — in New 
York — he is ” 

Her strength failed her once more. It was evi- 
dently going fast. 

“ What is your husband’s name ?” asked Satia, 
bending over her. 

“John — ” Her lips still moved, but no sound 
was heard. Her lids closed heavily. Just then the 


“ Unserheim. 


281 


child awoke. “ Mamma,” she cried. The mother’s 
eyes opened at sound of the loved voice. They 
brightened at sight of the rosy little face : they 
filled with unutterable longing as she glanced from 
her up to Satia. Summoning all her strength, she 
murmured: “John — McNeil — mechan — ic.” And 
still she looked up imploringly. 

Satia lifted the child, so that her mother could 
see her plainly. She took the hot, thin hand in her 
own. She leaned down, and spoke with distinct- 
ness : 

“ I will take your little girl, and find her father, 
if possible. If I cannot find him, I will keep her for 
my own, and, God helping me, I will be a good 
mother to her. Can you hear me?” 

There was little need to ask this; the expression 
of gratitude and relief which illuminated the wan 
features was more eloquent than words. To her 
dying day Satia never forgot it. 

Very soon after this she closed the sightless eyes, 
and helped prepare the body for its last, long rest. 
At sunset that afternoon there came a sudden hush 
of the great ship’s engines; midway of the sea, it 
stopped at the command of the sil'ent monarch. 
Death. A little group gathered about the white, 
sail-wrapped object which rested on the deck wait- 
ing to be slipped into its watery grave. Other 


282 


Morris Jtdian's Wife. 


groups stood silently, with bared heads and reverent 
mien. The chaplain, in his robes, read the burial 
service of the Church of England. The beautiful 
w'ords floated out upon the quiet evening air like a 
benediction. They descended with healing and 
with consolation into the heart of the desolate 
woman who, standing nearest to the earthly 
remains of Margaret McNeil, held her child in her 
arms. 

“ Thou knowest. Lord, the secrets of our hearts ; 
shut not Thy merciful ears to our prayer,” was 
truly her petition. 

Arriving at New York, she set herself to find 
“John McNeil, mechanic.” In the course of several 
days her search was rewarded. She learned from 
his landlady that he had gone to California with a 
half-dozen of his fellow-workmen, only a few days 
before, having evidently no idea of his wife’s com- 
ing out to him so soon. 

Satia thought likely that she had been induced to 
do so by her rapidly failing health, and her wish to 
leave the child with him. She now felt free to 
assume the charge of little Daisy until her father 
should be heard from. Daisy was an affectionate, 
healthy child, evidently the offspring of respectable, 
refined, though humble, 'parents. Already Satia had 
become much attached to her. Her hungry, aching 


Uiiserheim^ 


283 


heart had found something to which to cling. But 
she now longed to do more than she had done for 
the little ones at St. Luke’s. It was indeed a great 
and blessed duty to care for the dear bodies, either 
in sickness or in health ; but how much more so to 
educate the incessantly active brains, to train the 
immortal souls ! She had passed, in her own 
development, far beyond the limit she had set for 
herself beneath the clear sky of the Norwegian 
Saeter. The ambition which then satisfied her, and 
whose attainment had brought comfort to her 
broken heart, was not enough now. She would be 
not only a nurse, competent, devoted, but a mother 
in the highest, holiest sense. 

So, with curly-haired Daisy playing at her feet, 
she thought out the ways and means to this high 
end. Away upon the crest of the Alleghanies, in 
the pine-scented depths of the forest primeval, was 
a small estate which she held in her own right, 
through her mother. She had visited the place 
often during her childhood, and well remembered 
the delightful location of the rambling farmhouse, 
its healthful situation, its seclusion. 

It seemed the very spot in which to gather the 
little family of children of which she already saw 
herself the head. Having once decided upon this 
work, she entered into it heart and soul. From a 


284 


Morris Julian's Wife, 


city asylum she selected three little girls, all orphans. 
Then she hunted up one of her own childhood’s 
nurses, a faithful creature, now well past middle 
life, who was overjoyed at sight of her former 
beloved charge, and entered enthusiastically into 
Satia’s scheme. Ellen was a trusty soul, else she 
had not been chosen, for Satia wished above all 
things to preserve her incognita as long as possible. 

They reached Pleasant Pines, the mountain station 
nearest the farm, very early one winter morning. 
A deep snow had fallen a few days before, and it 
was with difficulty that their heavy sled was pulled 
along. A silence equalling that of the Norway 
forests was over everything, but it did not seem a 
dreary place to Satia. 

She was busy enough now. The old couple who 
had occupied the farm ever since her recollection 
were glad to give it over into younger hands. 

She planned extensive improvements in the old 
house, and when spring came these were made. 
From the broad porches, running all around, to the 
tiny doll-house built for Daisy’s special use, every- 
thing was substantial, comfortable and attractive, 
and arranged with reference to the well-being and 
pleasure of the little ones. 

A visit to New York, late in the summer, brought 
six more girls to the dainty, delightful home which 


“ Unserheiniy 


285 

“ Sister Jean ” had made ready for them. With her 
servants, maids, and the two old people, Satia had 
now a family of twenty on her hands, besides the 
men and farm hands. She knew no idle moments. 
Head and heart and hand were alike constantly 
employed in the “ home-keeping.” 

Her children were all girls. There was, and 
would ever be, but one boy in the world for her. 
They were of various ages, from three to ten years. 
Some of them were attractive, intelligent, some 
ignorant and bearing the taint of evil ancestry. All 
were cared for alike and, so far as possible, equally 
loved. Satia saw in each an embryo woman, whom 
she was resolved to train in such a way that she 
would be tru^ to all responsibilities which might be 
placed upon her. So far as she was able to prevent 
it, there would be no more Maynards left motherless 
as her boy had been left. 

The weeks and months and years slipped by until 
nearly five years had passed since she came to Unser- 
heim, as she called this home. She had in this time 
heard nothing directly from those who had hitherto 
peopled her little world. Occasionally she saw Aunt 
Hester’s name or Mrs. Fielding’s in a newspspaper— 
never that of Morris. Neither had the promised 
letter to Mrs. Cameron been written. Satia’s con- 
science troubled her not a little in regard to this. 


286 


Morris Julians Wife, 


Many times she made up her mind that she would not 
put it off another moment ; but, with her pen between 
her fingers, she found herself each time strangely i 
reluctant to write down the few words she knew ’ 
she ought to send to the one whom she believed to i 
be her best friend. She shrank, unconquerably, 
from going back into the past, from which she was 
now so completely cut off. As a burnt child dreads 
the fire, so she dreaded, with trembling and anguish 
of spirit, even so slight a touch as this upon the 
never-healed wound she so carefully concealed. 
And the pen was laid away. “ Some day,” she 
would say to her conscience. 

She had been prospered in whatever she had 
undertaken. Her little family was gFowing apace 
in health and happiness. Her band of helpers was 
so well trained that she often thought her work 
could go on just as well without her. And now 
came a time when she began to ask : What next ?’* 
Should she stay here always? Some of her girls 
were in their teens ; soon they would need more 
education than she could give them there. Should 
she enlarge her borders, and add a school, with 
every modern appliance and the best teachers, to 
the home-nest? Or should she send the girls, one 
by one, to some established institution, and gather 
in other little maidens to fill their places ? 


** Unserheini, 


287 


i Another question gave her some anxiety. Not 
very far away, on the line of the railroad, a beau- 
tiful spot had been selected for a summer resort. 
Each year added to its popularity, and the country 
round about was being fast opened up. How long 
before her jealously guarded acres would be in 
the midst of a curious, inquisitive public ? 

She thought of all these things during the one 
part of the twenty-four hours which she had from 
the first reserved to herself. Every evening, when 
the children were safely in bed, she wrapped up 
warmly from the keen mountain air and walked on 
the long veranda for an hour. 

If, in the course of these sixty minutes, the calm 
I cheerfulness, the unruffled serenity of her daily 
' walk and conversation was changed to bitter weep- 
1 ing, or to hopeless lamentation, or to the passionate 
: clamoring of her lonely heart for its own beloved, 

! none but the pitying eye of her Father in heaven 
! knew it. Sometimes, as she walked, her thoughts 
went back to those last days in Scotland, where, 
indeed, they ever quickest turned, and she wondered 
if she might not have been over-hasty to believe the 
gossiping tongues. Might she not, after all, be mis- 
taken? Ought she to let anything but the state- 
ment from Morris’ own lips separate her from 
Maynard ? Over and over again she tormented 


288 


Morris Julian's Wife. 


herself with these doubts and queries. She could 
not answer them. The stars and the trees and the 
great. arc’ of the bending sky gave back to her 
imploring gaze the comfort of their restful silence ; 
but they did not tell her whether she had done 
right or wrong. It was only when she left them 
and went inside and stood by the bedside of her 
sleeping children, that she could feel, ^‘Here is my 
place, now.” And yet there came a whisper: 
“ You surely can be spared. Others are fitted to 
do your work for these. Why not find, beyond 
shadow of doubt, if Maynard does not need you ?” 

At all times this thought haunted her, disturbing, 
perplexing. She was growing thin and weak and 
unable to perform her usual duties. Whether the 
cares and sorrows of the last few years were telling 
upon her health, and so making her mind an easy 
prey to harassing questions, or whether her long- 
repressed, silently borne trouble was wearing out 
her bodily vigor, she did not know. It scarcely 
mattered, since the result was the same in either 
case. Her strength was slipping away from her, 
and something must be done to bring it back. 

One day, just about this time. Nurse Ellen told 
her of a letter she had recently received from an old 
friend of hers.^ 

“Jes* to think, mem, of a dillikit speck of a 


THE NEW NUKSE.— >S'ee Page ‘2‘2H 



i 

I 















Unserheim. 


289 




woman like her a-goin’ out there an’ prayimptin’ a 
whole quarter-section of land all by her lone silf. 
She jes’ built her a wee shant}’- of a house, an’ she 
lived there widout a soul to spake to, less than a 
mile away, where her cousin, Tom O’Donegan, 
lives. She’s got all over the consimpshin which 
was a-rakin’ her to payees like a gallopin’ horse, and 
whin she has stayed there six months she will own 
a big farm wid a forest all over it, exipt where the 
trees won’t grow, mem. Oh, that’s what I call a 
wonderful country, that’ll give a poor woman a 
chance like that, an’ all widout a penny scarcely.” 

As Satia listened to this and a great deal more in 
regard to the astonishing “ luck” of Maggie Reilly, 
an idea was slowly forming in her mind. It 
formed slowly, but it grew rapidly. Why could 
not she, too, “ prayimpt” a quarter-section ? Might 
she not, also, in the boundless Western wilds regain 
her health of body and her peace of mind, even as 
she had done on the high, clear mountain side far 
away across the water ? 

A month later she bade good-bye to all at Unser- 
heim. She only told them that she was going away 
for awhile for a change, and that they would hear 
from her often. 

“ An’ sure an’ the blissid child looks like she needs 
a change of more than air,” said faithful Ellen to 


290 


Morris Julian's Wife. 


herself, as she watched her drive away. “ The 
saints knows what throubles has turned her pretty 
hair all white afore its time, an’ kapes her shut up 
here from one year’s ind to the nixt. Heaven bless 
her swate heart wheriver she goes !” 

Two months more saw Satia the sole occupant of 
a small cabin just within sight of, though a quarter 
of a mile away from, Maggie Reilly’s abode. She 
had chosen her land along the edge of one of 
Dakota’s prettiest valleys. It was remote, wild, 
primitive ; but she settled down for her six months’ 
stay with cheerfulness. Already she felt stronger 
from breathing the delicious air. She felt safe with 
friendly Maggie and her neighborly cousins so near, 
and a bright little Deringer in her belt. She 
reveled in the solitude ; she was busy with her 
books, her long rambles, her plans for clearing, cul- 
tivating and improving her wide domain. She even 
began to think of the new and commodious “ Unser- 
heim” which should one day rise upon the knoll 
which seemed to have been created on purpose for 
it. She wrote long, entertaining letters to the chil- 
dren, telling them of the strange and interesting 
things around her. 

And so the time sped on, until a day came— a fate- 
ful day — which was never to be forgotten. 





CHAPTER XXVII. 

AN EVENTFUL AFTERNOON. 

I Mrs. Sutherland’s house was on one corner of her 
I land. Outside the limits of the opposite corner 
i diagonally, was a bit of country where she was fond 
i of wandering. From one point there was a particu- 
I larly fine view ; and among the bushes she often 
' found blossoms which did not show .themselves 
elsewhere in the vicinity. 

One afternoon she put on her hat, a broad-brimmed 
affair tied securely down, took a stout staff, a flat 
basket and a trowel, and went over to Prospect 
[ Point, as she had named her favorite nook. After 
j some search, she found several roots of a little plant 
I she was anxious to make grow near her cabin. She 
was very busily engaged in taking up some of these 
with great care, when she heard voices just on the 
other side of the thick hedge. Surprised at this, 
for she had never seen a human being in this 
region, she peeped through the bushes. 

Merciful heaven ! Could she believe her eyes ? 

[29 1 J 


292 


Morris Julia7i's Wife, 


did her ears deceive her ? Or was it really Morris 
who sat there on horseback, not a dozen feet away, 
and did she actually hear once again his well-known 
voice ? 

For a moment she could not tell. Her whole 
being seemed projected into the devouring gaze 
which she bent upon him. Then she heard him say 
in the quick, decided way customary with him 
when annoyed : 

“ Have done, or it will be worse for you ! You 
cannot have my horse for any money ! Stand 
aside, there !” 

He waved his hand authoritatively ; and Satia, 
following his glance, saw a tall, roughly-dressed 
fellow with one hand on the bridle, the other 
extended toward Morris full of shining gold pieces. 

He did not stir. 

“ It’s a case of life or death, boss,” he said, his 
eyes wandering furtively around the horizon. “ My 
poor pony fell with me a couple of miles back. 
Her and my ankle’s done for. Let me have yours, 
or ” 

The gold pieces fell rattling to the ground, and 
Morris was looking down the barrel of a rifle. 
Instantly a pistol flashed from his belt. Both men 
fired, but the swerving of the horse sent both bul- 
lets wide of the mark. 


An Eventful Afternoon. 


293 


“ Come, Duke !” said Morris, making his spurs 
felt, and he was out of sight behind the trees. 

As if fascinated, Satia sat motionless on the 
ground, watching each movement of the man. 
Every feature of his face was indelibly stamped upon 
her memory, from his small, evil eyes to the long, 
red scar which lay across his left cheek. He stood 
gaping after Morris, the color coming and going 
in his swarthy face, and she could have sworn that 
she saw his fingers tremble as he still held his rifle. 
Presently a tear fell slowly down upon his ragged, 
matted beard. He rubbed his big, brown hand 
over his eyes. He stooped and gathered the coins 
from the grass. She heard him mutter, as, after 
another searching glance across the country and 
carefully placing his ear to the ground, he limped 
away in the same direction Morris had taken : 

“ Poor leetle Duke !” 

How was she to know that once, long years 
before this, the red-handed robber, murderer and 
fugitive from justice had been an innocent man, 
with a loving wife and one only child — a son ? A 
son of whom any father might well have been 
proud, a bright-eyed, manly little fellow, whose 
lordly ways had given him the pet name of “ Duke.” 
Into this house disease came suddenly, and both the 
mother and the idolized boy were buried in the 


294 


Morris Jtdians Wife. 


same grave. James Wilson’s moral nature was not 
strong enough to bear this great bereavement. He 
took to drink to drown the memories which pierced 
his bleeding heart, and went from bad to worse, 
until now he was a criminal of deepest dye, pursued 
by a band of officers who were determined to have 
him, dead or alive. 

Satia could not know all this, nor imagine that 
the name of Morris’ horse had been a magic shield 
to save his life. For years, James Wilson had not 
heard this old, fond love-word. He seldom thought 
of it ; he tried to bury it beneath drunkenness, 
debauchery, crime, anything which would keep it 
and all connected with that innocent, happy time 
far away. But now, spoken by the man whose iife 
he was about to take, it softened his callous heart ; 
it rendered his murderous arm powerless; it 
brought tears to eyes long unused to weeping. 

Left alone, Satia sat for a long time stupefied. 
She seemed incapable of continuous thought. 
Mechanically, at last, she gathered up her things 
and went home. She did not go by the disused 
trail which Morris and the man had followed, but 
across her own land. Once she thought she heard 
a shot, but she could not be sure of it. She seemed 
sure of nothing. As she drew near her cabin, she 
saw marks of horses’ feet ; the bushes were trampled 


An Eventful Afternoon, 


295 


down ; a bundle tied in a dirty handkerchief was 
outside the door ; a riding glove of handsome make 
lay on the grass quite near. Her heart throbbed 
violently. This glove must surely belong to Morris ; 
she remembered seeing such a pair upon his hands. 
Was he inside? Had he come to see her? 
Scarcely knowing what she did, she went timidly 
forward, entering the little room. Hardly had she 
done so when she sprang back in horror. For 
there, stretched across the floor, lay the dead bod}^ 
of the man at whom she' had seen her husband fire 
a pistol-shot not an hour before. Like a flash, she 
seized the glove ; she pressed it to her lips, then 
thrust it securely within the bosom of her dress. 

Drawing a long, shuddering sigh, and compelling 
herself to be calm, she went into the room again and 
looked more closely at the prostrate figure. A 
small, round hole in his temple told the story. Did 
it come there by the hand of Morris?’ She could 
not believe that it did. She recalled the altercation. 
No doubt Morris had stopped at her cabin, possibly, 
probably to see her — for what else coulcL have 
brought him to this unpeopled country ? — and while 
lingering, waiting for her return, he had been again 
overtaken by the ruffian. Perhaps the fellow had 
tried to steal the horse ; perhaps— but who could 
tell what had passed between them ? What mat- 


296 


Morris Jtilians Wife. 


tered it ? Here lay one man dead ; the other, she 
hoped, was far away out of danger of pursuit or 
recognition. 

Satia had little idea of the lawlessness, the rough- 
handed justice of the region to which she had come. 
A murder was to her a murder, arid a murderer a 
hideous thing ; and yet, was not Morris one? The 
two words sounded strangely together — Morris a 
murderer ! 

She ran over rapidly in her mind the chances 
against the probability of this, and she was obliged 
to confess that they were few. Did she not well 
know his inborn and inbred aversion to all men of 
the class of this one lying at her feet ? His aristo- 
cratic withdrawing of himself from contact with the 
masses ? His impatient intolerance of anything like 
insistance upon the part of one of them against his 
spoken word ? Had she not seen him fire upon this 
very fellow ? She could not mistake the crime- 
marked visage, the scarred cheek, the three-fingered 
hand which had groped for the golden coins. And 
had she not found her husband’s glove at the very 
threshold of the house where the importunate 
vagrant now lay ? Could she reasonably doubt the 
chain of circumstantial evidence which seemed to 
be winding inevitably about him ? She could not; 
she did not; and she determined, as she stood there. 


An Eventfitl Afternoon. 


297 


looking down with white face upon the man whom 
she would have given her life to bring again to the 
land of the living, that no other mortal save herself 
should ever have the faintest shadow of a reason for 
[ suspecting him of the murder. 

She had but the vaguest notion of legal proceed- 
ings ; but she felt sure that some one would come to 
search for this man. Did they not always do so for 
missing people? And had she not read of persons 
who had committed such deeds hiding all traces of 
I their dreadful work ? 

Could she hide away this horrible object? She 
i bent down and pulled at the ragged coat with all 
her strength. As well might she have attempted to 
; stir the earth. Disappointed, but not yet dis- 
1 couraged, she abandoned her first idea of burying 
him. Again she stood looking down and consider- 
ing. But she began to feel faint ; a sickening sense 
of the thing which lay across the floor of her pure, 
peaceful little home came over her with frightful 
reality. She turned to get out into the air. As she 
did so, her eyes fell upon a small object — a box of 
matches. Like a flash, she saw her way clear. It 
was a desperate alternative, whose details she could 
not bear even so much as to imagine, and it meant 
entire change of her plans. But that, and more, 
were gladly done. Anything, she thought, was bet- 


298 Moines Julians Wife. 

ter than that the father of her boy be branded as a ' 
murderer. 

She quickly selected a few necessary articles and ^ 
packed them in a satchel. She dressed herself 
afresh, for traveling. Her purpose was to spend i 
the night with Maggie Reilly, after having watched i 

the burning of her cabin to be sure that every trace j 
of it was destroyed. It would be very easy to make 
some excuse for the accident. Then, next day, she 
would get one of the friendly cousins to take her to 5 
Zadoc, where she would give up her claim and I 
think what it was best to do in the future. | 

When all her arrangements had been completed, 
she thrust her hand within the coarse shirt, to 
satisfy herself that the man’s heart had stopped 
beating ; then she poured over his clothes a bottle 
of alcohol, her only inflammable. 

She made a little pile of dry kindlings and news- 
papers at one corner of the house, outside, for she 
could not stay one moment longer within. Then, 
with a calmness at which she afterward marveled, 
she struck a match, and a bright tongue of flame ran 
swiftly along the paper; the chips caught and 
crackled ; slowly and then more rapidly, the fire 
spread. As she watched the licking blaze greedily 
making its way, her thoughts went back to the 
burning J^eeAesUr. She experienced anew the miser- 


An Eventful Afternoon. 


299 


ies of that night. She thought of the dark ocean, 
on which they had tossed through the long hours 
until daybreak ; beneath those dashing waves, how 
still it was, how peaceful ! Day and night they 
were undisturbed by the sorrows, the turmoil, the 
passions of the lives of the sons of men. With a 
sob, she buried her face in her hands ; she wished 
that she lay there, forever at rest ; that she had 
never been saved from the tranquil embrace of the 
great deep. 

But scarcely had the thought passed through her 
mind than she banished it. This was no time for 
weak repinings, for useless regret. 

The fire was making some headway by this time, 
but not enough for her impatient eagerness. Seiz- 
ing a long stick, she lighted it and went around to 
start a blaze at another corner of the house. As 
she did so, she saw a horseman just in front of her. 
Was it Morris? Terrified, she turned to run back. 
Another horseman confronted her. From all 
directions they seemed to come, their big, dark 
figures looming up against the clear afterglow in 
the sunset sky. 

Quickly they surrounded her; as quickly, it 
seemed to her, they brought water from the brook 
close by and put out the flames. They entered the 
house, and she heard their excited exclamations. 


300 


Morris Julian'' s Wife. 


their rough words of disappointment at having 
been baffled of their prey, their threats of dire ven- 
geance against the one who had killed the fugitive. 

Satia sat on the grass in the midst of it all, 
speechless. She had eagerly scanned each face, as 
she had opportunity, and she breathed more freely 
when she found that Morris was not of the number. 
The man who kept near her as a guard did not speak 
to her ; but, presently, after a low-toned conference 
out in the bushes, the men came toward her. They 
stood leaning on their rifles — tall, heavily-built, 
booted and spurred, keen of eye and shrewd of 
face, rough of speech and resolute of nature. 

One of them stepped from the group and 
addressed Satia. 

She pressed her hands against her breast ; she 
felt the glove which rested there ; she was deter- 
mined to say nothing concerning Morris, come 
what might. 

“ Is this your home ?’' 

Yes.” 

“ Do you live here alone ?” 

“ Yes.” 

What is your name ?” 

No answer. 

The question was repeated. Still she did not 


An Eventful Afternoon. 


301 


reply. A black-browed fellow said, after changing 
a quid of tobacco from one cheek to the other : 

“ Her name’s Jane Suthlun. 1 wuz over to 
Zadoc when she took up her claim.” 

Her interrogator made a note of this. Satia 
glanced gratefully toward the speaker. Morris 
surely could never imagine any connection between 
herself and “Jane Suthlun.” 

“When did this man come here?” was asked 
next. 

“ I do not know.” 

“ Hev you been here all day ?” 

“ No.” 

“ Where hev you been?” 

“ Over there,” she pointed her hand off indefi- 
nitely. 

“ Was you alone ?” 

“ Yes — no — yes,” she stammered. 

“ Which der you mean?” inquired the man, with 
a knowing look at his comrades. 

No answer. 

“ Don’t ye be afeerd of us,” he said, with an awk- 
ward attempt at kindness; “we’re not a-goin’ to 
hurt ye, but we’ve found our man dead in yer house, 
an’ the law must take its course. Ef ye can’t account 
fer him, ye’ll hev to be tuk to jail.” 


302 


Morris Julians Wife, 


“ What for?” she asked, looking up at him for the 
first time. 

He chuckled, and turning to the man next him, 
said : 

“ The old woman is a fool, sure.” 

To Satia, he answered : ~~ 

“ For killing this ’ere feller an’ then for settin’ fire 
to the shanty. We seed ye a-runnin’ around with 
yer torches. Yer mighty cute to think o’ thet, but 
we was a leetle too spry for ye. Now, le’s hev it 
out fair an’ square. What do ye know about this 
’ere bizness ?” 

She listened to all this with a mind suddenly freed 
from the mists which had obscured it, with a heart 
strong for whatever lay before it. If she were the 
murderer, then Morris would go free. 

She rose to her feet and took up her satchel. 

“ 1 have nothing to say. 1 am ready to go with 
you,” she said. 

The men looked at her in amazement. They had 
thought her, as she sat there, an old woman. She 
stood before them now, erect and vigorous. Her 
white hair gleamed in the dusk, her great brown 
eyes were full of somber fire. 

Again the men consulted ; then two of them pre- 
pared to remain at the cabin, the others to go on. 
One of the saddles was arranged so that Satia might 


''Jedge Julia7iy 


303 


ride comfortably. When all was ready she mounted 
the horse, and, surrounded by her grim escort, she 
rode away into the moonlight. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

“JEDGE JULIAN.” 

It was court-week in the brisk young town of 
Zadoc, and unusual excitement throughout its length 
and breadth. The streets were full of stalwart, 
sun-browned men, galloping about upon tough little 
ponies ; boarding-houses were over-flowing ; store- 
keepers wore broad smiles of invitation and satis- 
faction, for this was one of their richest harvest- 
times ; an occasional wagon clattered along the 
chief thoroughfare ; everywhere there was bustle 
and activity, but nowhere was it more noticeable 
than around the modest building in which justice 
was wont to be dispensed. 

The handsome new court-house, which is now 
the pride of Zadoc and all the country for many 
miles around, was at that time only a yawning, 
cavernous opening in the earth, surrounded by 
numerous suggestive piles of building material. 
Court was still held just across the way, in a rough 


304 


Moi'ris Julians Wife. 


wooden hall, once considered a thing of beauty by 
the Zadocese, but now left far behind in the march 
of progressive architecture. 

A new judge was about to take his seat. Old 
Judge French, beloved of all, and a most righteous 
judge,” had gone the way of all the earth a few 
weeks before, and in his place Lawyer Julian had 
been appointed. 

Now Morris Julian was not unknown to these 
sturdy citizens of Dakota. He had been practicing 
law in Zadoc for nearly five years. At first he was 
looked upon with a good deal of mistrust. In spite 
of his wearing flannel shirts (imported), and trying 
to conform in other scarcely less trying ways to the 
requirements of life in this hurrying, hard-headed, 
no-nonsense-about-it part of the world, the shrewd 
sons of the West detected a difference between him 
and themselves. At the least displa}" of his old 
imperiousness or the indulgence beyond a very 
certain moderate limit of his sybaritic tastes, his 
influence would have been forever destroyed. But 
Morris Julian had been learning some lessons of his 
dearly bought experience. He was careful to 
conceal every evidence of wealth in his daily living ; 
little by little he invested in real estate ; he estab- 
lished small industries, and he attended successfully 
to his rapidly increasing legal business. Gradually 


^^Jedge Jtilia7i. 


305 


he gained the confidence of his townsmen, and 
especially of the farmers in the neighboring 
country. He made himself useful to them ; in time, 
necessary to them. By degrees, too, he improved 
and beautified the modest home he had at first built. 
It came to be pointed to with pride by the people 
of Zadoc as Lawyer Julian’s handsome place,” and 
the speaker was often heard to add : 

“ He is one of us, sir ; grew up with the town. 
He knows a good thing when he sees it, and he 
knows how to spend his money, too. He don’t 
invest it in all sorts of wildcat schemes, but puts it 
right down here in Zadoc, sir, every cent of it. And 
he’s no fool of a lawyer either, let me tell you.” 

Zadoc was only six years old, but by this time 
other capital had come in, other handsome public 
and private buildings were being erected, other 
lawyers had opened offices and found plenty of 
work. But Morris easily kept the lead in every- 
thing ; he did not mean to yield one jot nor one 
tittle of his advantage in having “ grown up with 
the town.” He worked hard. Never had his 
extraordinary foresight and shrewdness in business 
affairs, nor his unfailing skill in reading human 
nature been more actively employed ; and so, when, 
by the unanimous wish of all the people, not only in 
Zadoc, but in the whole of Kadesh county, he was 


3o6 


Morn's Julians Wife. 


appointed judge, he felt that he had earned the 
honor honestly. 

When he told Kelsie, who still had the care of 
Maynard, of his new title, her pride and delight 
knew no bounds. He was amused and touched by 
her affectionate rejoicing in what she considered 
the greatest glory to which he could ever attain. 

“ An’ will ye wear a big, white, woolly wig, 
Master Morris, an’ a long black gownd o’ thick silk, 
stiff as a board, lak the judges I saw once years 
agone in Lunnon?” she inquired. 

Kelsie watched him as he started off for his after- 
noon gallop on the day before the opening of the 
court. 

“ Would to heaven our bonny leddy could know 
o’ this day ! I doubt me not that my bairn's heart 
be heavy, even though his tongue be merry.” 

She drew a long sigh, as she always did at thought 
of Satia. She shook her head anew over the 
mystery of her unaccountable doings. 

Morris, too, was th diking of his wife as he turned 
his horse into a new trail, winding through a region 
hitherto unexplored. These long rides, taken 
whenever it was possible to get away, were his 
only recreation. Sometimes they were full of quiet 
pleasure and undisturbed meditation ; sometimes 
they were break-neck dashes, as he rushed madly 


'Jedge Julian. 


307 


along in the vain hope of escaping distracting 
memories. 

To-day these memories came crowding thick and 
fast, but his mood was a placid one. It seemed as 
though he thought of every pleasant word that 
Satia had ever spoken to him ; as though he saw 
again every beautiful picture which she, in her 
girlish loveliness and her womanly beauty, had 
ever made. One after another they appeared to 
him until he felt surrounded by her presence — 
almost sure that by taking one step more he could 
put out his hand and lay it upon her very self. 

From these delightful visions he was rudely 
recalled by a violent touch upon his horse’s bridle. 
After firing the shot which missed its aim, but 
served to shake off the detaining grasp, he galloped 
rapidly along the trail for some distance. Then, 
catching sight of Satia’s cabin, he turned aside to 
beg for a drink of water. Riding quite to the door, 
he hallooed to whoever might be within. Receiv- 
ing no response, he dismounted and entered. He 
found a glass and quenched his thirst ; then, struck 
by the extreme tidiness of the place, he looked 
about more closely. Everything was of the sim- 
plest, but arranged with such a dainty neatness that 
he said, half aloud : 

“ This is a woman’s home, 1 knovv,” 


3o8 


Morris J iilia7i s Wife. 


He walked over to the rude book-shelf and read 
the titles of the few volumes standing there. 

“ ‘ Middleniarch ’ — ‘ German Dictionary ’ — Schil- 
ler’s ‘ Maria Stuart’ Some school-ma’am tired of 
teaching, likely,” was his comment, as he turned 
away. Had he read also the name written on the 
fly-leaves, he would have been startled out of his 
serenity. For, beneath the words “Jeanie Suther- 
land,” written in Satia’s unmistakable hand, were 
the two significant letters “S. J.” But he did not 
look there ; nor did he linger longer at the cabin. 
The sun was already well down toward setting and 
many miles still lay between him and his supper. 

As the hour for the opening of the court drew 
near the next day, the crowd increased. About the 
doors of the court-house and lounging on the 
benches considerately placed beneath the few trees 
gracing its front walk, groups of men were gath- 
ered. These groups were composed of many 
nationalities, of all sorts and conditions, of all ages 
and types, from the newly fledged college graduate 
in search of fame and fortune, to the latest arrival 
from foreign shores ; both equally ignorant of prac- 
tical life in nineteenth-century America. 

They were all talking of the new judge. 

“The judge is er leetle feller,” a big, orawny 
countryman remarked, while a sly grin overspread 


''Jedge Julian. 


309 


his broad face ; “ he’s one o’ the leetle kind ; but 
ye’ve noticed mebbe thet cattridges ain’t often so 
big ez cheeses.” 

A loud laugh greeted this witty effort, during 
which the man chuckled audibly: 

“Yes, he hev got the sand an’ no mistake,” said 
another. “Do ye mind the time, Tim, when he 
busted ole Dave Smith’s deed higher’n a kite fer 
tryin’ ter cheat your paw out o’ his share o' thet 
valley farm ? Land o’ liberty, warn’t Dave mad 
enough to eat him !” 

“ 1 reckon,” drawled a sallow-faced, yellow-whis- 
kered young fellow whose soft, slow speech beto- 
kened Southern rearing, “ I reckon we kin never for- 
git what th’ jedge done las’ summer fer brother Will.” 

There was silence for some minutes after this 
allusion to one of the kind — tenderly kind — deeds 
which Morris now lost no opportunity of doing for 
his fellows. The circumstances of this lad’s injury 
and death were unusually touching, and Morris’ 
brotherly attentions could never be forgotten by 
these men who had witnessed them. 

Then some one who had sauntered up to the 
group, asked : 

“ What yer reckon our new jedge ’ll do with old 
woman Suthlun?” and straightway they were 
launched into a second topic of absorbing interest. 


310 


Morris Jtdians Wife. 


Interchange of opinion, comment and query went 
on until Morris came riding down the street. 
Instantly every man was on his feet; they stood 
silently, hats and caps in hand, until he had dis- 
mounted ; then one of them took the pony in charge, 
and ail burst into a deafening cheer. Shout after 
shout went up, caught by one and another farther 
away, until it seemed that all Zadoc was welcoming 
its new judge with one mighty acclamation. 

Morris stood, uncovered, bowing to the right and 
the left. It was the proudest moment of his late life. 

His lips quivered with pleasure, pride, gratified 
ambition, but most of all with joy at this evidence 
that he had won the hearts of his fellow-citizens. 
He looked around at them. Almost without excep- 
tion they were diamonds in the rough. No store 
clothes*' nor “ company manners ” met his eye or 
pleased his sensibilities. But sturdy, honest, toiling 
manhood was there ; and he had learned to recog- 
nize it and love it, because he had himself become a 
sturdy, honest, toiling-man. His face grew pale 
as he looked, still silently, into the faces of the 
crowd. Then he smiled, bowed again, and went 
inside the building — ere long to face a surprise that 
sent the blood rushing to his heart. 



CHAPTER XXIX. 

“ JANE SUTHLUN.” 

For several days the usual run of cases was 
brought before the court, and were speedily dis- 
posed of. Last of all upon the docket was one in 
which centered all the picturesqueness, if it may be 
so expressed, of the session. 

As the majority of Zadoc’s worthies put it : 

“ Ole woman Suthlun’s got ter show her hand 
now.” 

Red Bill’s vicious, blood-stained career had for 
manj) months made him an object of unenviable 
notoriety even in those days of frequent crimes; 
but the last search for him, his death, and the 
mystery of the woman in whose cabin his body 
had been found, the narrative of all of which had 
grown no less thrilling by its frequent repetition 
during the fortnight of Satia’s detention in the 
sheriff’s house, had wrought public curiosity up to 
the very highest pitch. 

When Morris entered the court-room at the hour 

[311] 



312 


Morris Jtclians Wife. 


for Jane Sutherland’s trial, he found it packed. 
There was no standing room. Even upon the 
window sills men were perched. As he glanced 
around at the throng, he thought he saw the face 
of everyone he had ever known in Dakota. The 
country for miles around had poured itself into 
Zadoc, and all Zadoc was in the court-house. He 
wondered at the unusual interest manifested in 
this particular case. He recalled, too, what Kelsie 
had that very morning said to him in regard to 
the prisoner. She had recounted much of the 
gossip of which the little town was full, but espe- 
cially what the sheriff’s wife had told her personally. 

“ An I don’t believe, Master Morris, that she had 
anything to do with the killin’ o’ that man, unless 
maybe to protect hersel’. But I mean, I think she 
was above associatin’ wi’ the likes o’ him. Sarah 
says she is as gentle an’ sweet as she can be, a 
lady, every inch o’ her. Be good to her, won’t 
ye, now, Master Morris ? Sarah says she looks 
as though she carried a sad heart, an’ she’s no old 
woman, for all her white hair.” 

Just then she was brought in. Her chair was not 
ten feet from the judge’s elevated “bench.” He 
looked with sudden interest at the slender, erect 
figure. His cheek flushed as he noticed its resem- 
blance to another equally slender and erect. Satia 


Jane Suthlun. 


313 


turned slightly — he had not seen her face before — ' 
and looked directly at him. 

At last the moment had come for which he had so 
incessantly longed ! He saw his wife again. All his 
heart blazed forth from his eyes in that one astound- 
ing, awful moment. Her eyes, after that first 
startled, incredulous glance, were cast down. She 
had the advantage over him, for she knew, at least, 
that he had been in the vicinity only a few days 
before, although never dreaming of seeing him here 
in the capacity of her judge. So she was not as 
entirely petrified with astonishment as he was. 
Recalled to himself and his surroundings by the 
sound of the clerk’s voice, he endeavored to regain 
his self-command. 

“ Jane Sutherland, for the murder of one Red 
Bill on the afternoon of June loth, and for setting 
fire to the house where his body lay,” was all that 
he heard of the formal indictment which was being 
read. Over and over these words rang in his ears, 
mingling and intermingling in the most confusing 
way with the thousand surmises as to what could 
have brought her to such a place on such a charge. 

Morris felt as though he was in the clutches of a 
horrible nightmare ; his agitation increased, and his 
pallor was noticed by more than one person present. 
It was not until the first witness was called that the 


314 


Morris Julian'' s Wife, 


lawyer in him, as well as the “ husband, legal pro- 
tector and devoted lover," was aroused and he lis- 
tened to the testimony with every faculty strained 
to keen, critical attention. 

The first witness was one of the sheriff’s posse. 
He gave a clear, straightforward account of what 
he saw and all that happened at the little cabin after 
his arrival there. He described the position of the 
body ; Satia’s attempts to set fire to the house — 
attempts which would have succeeded but for the 
prompt coming of the pursuing party ; her refusal 
to answer questions put to her ; her absolute silence 
during the long night ride to Zadoc. 

From his description of the place, Morris knew 
that it was his wife’s home which he had entered, 
and he cursed the stupidity which had prevented 
him from discovering it at the time. For then, in all 
probability, this affair would never have happened. 

Just as the second witness was being called, a 
loud, shrill voice was heard at the door, and a stout, 
comely Irishwoman entered the court-room. She 
gave one quick glance around, then limped slowly 
down the length of the room, not heeding the curi- 
ous and inquiring looks which followed her. Her 
shoes were dusty and her dress drabbled ; but her 
face was determined and her intelligent blue eyes 
were fixed on Morris. 


'Jane Suthlun. 


Turning toward him, she clasped her hands, say- 
ing earnestly : 

Och, an’ may it plaze your honor, I want to tell 
ye somethin’.” 

The marshal had already stepped forward to 
remove her ; as he came nearer and she divined his 
intention, she darted across the intervening space 
and caught hold of the arm of Morris’ chair. 

“ No, ye don’t,” she cried ; “ not until I’ve told 
his honor how it was. I’ve not walked ivery step 
o’ the sixteen miles from me cabin to this place for 
nothin’ at all at all! Sind the man away, judge, 
darlin’, and listen while 1 till ye who killed Red Bill. 
That blissid child a-sittin’ there ain’t no more to do 
wid it than your honor.” 

Satia rose to her feet, terrified, as she heard this. 
What could the woman be about to say ? In her 
zeal for her neighbor, was she about to denounce 
the judge to his very face ? 

She had at first refused counsel ; but by advice of 
the kind-hearted wife of the sheriff, at whose house 
she had been kept in default of a suitable jail, she 
had named a lawyer of the place. He sat beside 
her now and drew her back into her chair. 

Oh, do not let her speak I She does not know ! 
She is insane,” she whispered, frantically. 


3i6 


Morris Juliaiis Wife, 


But Morris had motioned the marshal away, and 
was speaking- to Maggie : 

“ You shall tell me all you wish, my good woman. 
Step quietly over there with this gentleman, and 
answer truthfully all that is asked you,” he said, 
and his voice sounded strangely to him ; in spite of 
his efforts, he could not keep it steady. 

Much excitement had been created by the arrival 
of an eye-witness of the crime ; after a short con- 
sultation, it was decided to suspend the regular pro- 
ceedings to hear her testimony. 

She was sworn to tell the truth, the whole truth, 
and nothing but the truth. 

“ What is your name ?” 

“ Maggie Reilly, sur.” 

“ What is your age ?” 

Maggie looked toward Morris with a sly twinkle 
in her eye. 

“An’ sure, your honor, whativer do the gintle- 
man want to ask me that for ? I kin see just as well 
whither — ” 

“ Answer the question without any more 
remarks,” interrupted the lawyer, sternly. 

“ ril be thirty-sivin years old on the nixt day 
afther the first day of nixt Siptimber, sur,” 
responded Maggie then, with the utmost prompt- 
ness. 


''Jane Suthlu7u' 


317 


“ Where do you live ?” 

“ Sixteen miles from here, near the Crooked 
River, sur, just beyant where me cousin Tom 
O’Donegan lives. Ye'll be knowin’ Tom by one 
squint eye, the twin ter that gintlemin’s,” pointing 
to the lawyer for the prosecution, who got ver}^ red 
in the face at this personality, “ an’ by — ” 

“ That will do for Tom. Tell us how far your 
house is from Jane Sutherland’s.” 

“ Whin I stands in me front-parlor door an’ hollers 
right hearty, Jane kin hear me, sur.” 

“ How long have you lived there ?” 

“ It wdll be three months come nixt Chewsday 
since 1 prayimpted, sur.” 

Another considtation took place between the 
lawyers. 

“ Now, then, Maggie,” said her interrogator, “tell 
us plainly and exactly all you know about this 
matter.” 

“ An’ plaze, sur, kin 1 till it right along, widout 
bein’ bothered wid so many o’ yer questions?” 

“ That is just what we want you to do, Maggie.’’ 

She seemed much relieved at this. She arranged 
her brilliantly plaided blanket-shawl more comfort- 
ably around her shoulders, smoothed down her 
glossy, black hair with both hands, and began her 
story. 



CHAPTER XXX. 

ACQUITTED. 

Last Winsdy, afther I’d finished me ironin’, I sez 
to rnesilf, sez I : ‘ I’ll run over an’ sit wid Jane for 

an hour.’ Jane’s not been long out here, yer honor, 
an’ anny wan kin see that she’s a leddy born an’ not 
used ter rough ways like the rist o’ us, an’ I often 
goes over an’ does little things for her, an’ which it 
ain’t the place te'f spake of here. Whin I got there 
this time 1 finds Jane gone away — out fer a walk ter 
git some o’ thim posies she’s so fond of, I sez ter 
rnesilf — an’ 1 sez to rnesilf, too: ‘ Now, Maggie, me 
gurrul, here’s yer chance ter scrub up thim kittles 
an’ pans.’ So, as 1 was a wurrukin’ as hard as could 
be, all of a suddint 1 see a man a cornin’. I tuk 
notice that he was that lame he could barely walk, 
an’ I thought ter see him fall down ivery minit. He 
was a evil-looking blaggard, an’ I run ter shut the 
door ; but when he come nearer, he looked that sick 
he’d a softened a heart o’ stone. So I jes’ opined 
the door wide, an’ the first thing he did was ter flop 




Acquitted. 


319 


down on the floor like a log o' wood. I fetched him 
some water, but he jes’ lay an’ groaned, an’ kep’ a 
calling for his leetle Juke, whativer that might be. 
Bymebye he kinder roused up, an’ said : 

Thank ye, marm ; ’tain’t no use fer ter do 
nothin’ more fer Red Bill. Thet darned pony must 
a broke my leg when she throwed me ; anyway, it’s 
all up wid me this time ;’ an’ thin he tuk out his 
pistol, an’ afore I knowed a thing, he’d put it up ter 
his head and shot hisself dead.” 

Maggie paused. Everyone had listened breath- 
lessly, none more so than Morris and Satia. The 
latter’s color came back in a flood when she heard 
that the man had killed himself. The tense, 
repressed look passed from her face, the nameless 
terror of the last few days from her heart. 

A low murmur filled the court-room, hushed at 
once, as the lawyer asked Maggie : 

“ What did you do then ?” 

“ An’ sure an’ didn’t 1 run home as fast as me 
legs ’ud carry me an’ jump into bid wid the clothes 
pulled over me head, an’ I prayin’ ter ivery one o’ 
the blissid saints.” 

When did you see Jane Sutherland again ?” 

“ Niver at all until the blissid minit whin I coom 
in here, yer honor. Whin me teeth stopped from 
chatterin’, an’ me fate an’ me knees didn’t trimble so 


320 


Morris Julians Wife. 


bad, I wint back there to fetch Jane home wid me, 
for I know’d she could niver sthay there no more, 
annyway . ^il the corps hed hed a daycent burial. 
The moon v. s a-shinin’ that bright you’d a thought 
it was day, an’ I seed the min an’ the horses long for- 
ninst I got there, an’ whin I coom they said as how 
Jane had been tuk off ter the jail, an’ I sot down on 
the grass an’ jes’ cried me eyes out, fer I know’d 
she’d no more ter do wid it than the burruds in the 
sky. But I says to mesilf, sez I : Maggie, megirrul, 
jus’ kape yer tongue atween yer teeth till yer gits 
ter the jedge hisself, an’ thin ye won’t git tuk up 
yersilf ; an’ sez I, yes, Maggie Reilly, an’ 1 will that. 
An’ I coom as quick as iver I could, but me knee is 
that lame I could only git along slow. An’ now, yer 
honor, I wants ter be takin’ Jane back home wid me. 
Yer’ll not be wantin’ her here no more, will ye, 
jedge ? an’ I must be gittin’ back to me farrum.” 

“ We’ll see about that presently, Maggie,” replied 
the lawyer. 

A rigid cross-examination followed, during which 
she adhered closely to the narrative she had already 
given. When this was ended, Satia’s counsel arose 
and said that the prisoner wished to make a state- 
ment. All eyes were at once turned toward her. 
She arose in her place and stood with her hands 
resting on a small table in front of her. She was 


A cqiiitted. 


32T 


entirely self-possessed and spoke in a low, clear 
tone. 

“Now that there is no longer ar' ^'reason for 
silence, I think it may be best to expluVfi my actions 
to the court. During my walk across the fields on 
the afternoon of June loth, I, being concealed by a 
thick hedge, overheard an altercation between Red 
Bill and a — a gentleman. In self-defense, the gentle- 
man fired at Red Bill, but missed on account of his 
horse’s jumping. He then rode quickly away, and 
in a few minutes Red Bill limped slowly after him. 
Arriving at my cabin soon, I found his dead body 
there, in my room, and — and — I found a glove 
belonging to the gentleman just outside my door, I 
naturally thought that there had again been trouble 
between the two, and that this time the bullet had 
not missed its destination. It was to protect this — 
this — gentleman, who used to be a kind friend to me, 
that I decided to burn the cabin.” 

She sat down amidst intense excitement. Her 
beauty, her grace, and all that might easily be 
imagined to lie behind her simple statement took 
the hearts of her hearers by storm. And what 
words can describe the emotions that were surging 
through the breast of the pale, statue-still judge, as 
he drank in every word which fell from her lips ? 

“ I telled ye she be no common ’ooman to a’ held 


322 


Morris J2ilian s Wife. 


her tongue all that time,” whispered one old man, 
loudly, to his neighbor, wagging his head the while. 
“ Le’s gi’ her three rousin’ cheers when they git 
through.” 

The sheriff now arose and asked to be sworn. He 
testified to finding a small pistol beside Red Bill, 
and corroborated several points in Maggie’s stor}^ 
After a brief charge to the jurymen, the case was 
given to them. Without leaving their seats, they 
brought in a unanimous verdict of “ Not guilty.” 

Immediately the old man sprang to his feet shout- 
ing: 

“Three cheers fer Jane Suthlun !” 

And before they could be given some one else 
cried : 

“ Three cheers fer Maggie Reilly !” 

The old hall fairly shook with the outburst. No 
attempt was made to quiet the uproarious crowd, 
which yelled itself hoarse. In the midst of the 
unprecedented excitement, the court adjourned 
and the judge slipped away. Satia, under escort 
of her counsel, had already left the buildino- 
and only Maggie Reilly remained to receive an 
ovation at the hands of her admirers. 



CHAPTER XXXI. 

HUSBAND AND WIFE. 

The sheriff’s house was but a short distance from 
the court-house. Morris went there at once, at the 
same time sending a messenger for his horse and 
buggy. Satia had taken a step or two on the stairs 
leading to her room, when he came quickly into the 
small front entry. Turning, she looked down at him 
from her slight elevation. Never, it seemed to him, 
had he seen her so beautiful. The intense joy and 
thankfulness she felt at finding him innocent of 
another man’s blood, even though shed in self- 
defence, still shone upon her face, and, added to 
this, was her own rejoicing at the sight of him 
again, at his nearness, at the assurance which his one 
flashing glance had given that she was dear to him. 
She experienced the sensation of being suddenly 
taken from the horror of a darkness so great as to 
have shrouded her whole being in gloom, and being 
plunged into the midst of glad anticipations too 

[323] 



Moi^ris JtLlians Wife. 


324 


bright to be expressed. The charming timidity of 
a maiden, the trustfulness of a friend, the devotion 
of a wife, the exquisite tenderness of a loving 
woman, all spoke to him silently, eloquently, in the 
look she gave him as she stood there. Morris did 
not attempt to approach her ; he knew there were 
listening ears not far away. He only said, trying to 
steady his voice, every vibration of which told of 
his happiness : 

“ Mrs. Sutherland, my carriage will be at the 
door in five minutes. Can you be ready in so short 
a time ?” 

“Thank you, yes. Judge Julian,’’ she answered 
him. 

The five minutes were scarcely gone before she 
had taken leave of the kind-hearted woman who 
had made her stay as comfortable as she possibly 
could ; and, sitting beside her husband, was being* 
driven rapidly through Zadoc and out into the open 
country. 

They could not entirely escape the crowd, who 
agreed that “ our jedge ” had the kindest heart in 
the world. 

“ There goes Jedge Julian now, taking Jane Suth- 
lun home,” said one to another. 

Morris was quite willing that the good people of 
Zadoc should think this; but nothing was further 


Husband and Wife, 


325 


from his intentions than ever allowing Satia to visit 
or even to see her cabin again. His one desire just 
at present was to get her away from everything and 
everybody but himself, where he might look at her, 
and see and feel her dear presence, and convince 
himself that it was a blessed reality, and not a too 
happy dream from which he should presently awake 
more lonely than ever. 

They scarcely spoke for many miles. It was 
enough simply to be together. All the past seemed 
forgotten. Other hours might know their inter- 
change of confidences, their self-reproaches, their 
mutual tender excuses, the recital of all which had 
happened during the long years of their separation. 
Many hours and days would not suffice for these, 
but this hour, this day was completely filled by 
happy, almost silent companionship. 

At length Morris turned the pony’s head. Satia 
looked up in surprise. 

“ No, my wife,” he said, meeting her inquiring 
glance with a look full of decision, “ we are not 
going anywhere now but to our home. And never 
do I mean to let you see again that little cabin. 1 
wish, if possible, to shield you from the gossip and 
publicity of being known in Zadoc as other than 
Mrs. Sutherland. As that lady you will be my 
guest until to-morrow. By then we will have 


326 


Morris J uliaiis Wife. 


arranged our plans. But you are never again to 
stay under other roof than mine, my darling.” 

Satia thrilled beneath the words and tone in which 
they were uttered. He had expressed himself in 
almost the very manner which used to be so unen- 
durable, and which she once braved everything to 
escape from. But now he had given voice to the 
dearest wish of her own heart and she yielded gladly. 
Moreover, she saw even in this brief time a differ- 
ence between the husband she had left and the one 
to whom she had returned — a difference which was 
to be more perceptible as their reunited lives con- 
tinued. His old, quiet, never-swerving willfulness 
had given place to a more thoughtful consideration, 
not merely of the external comfort of others, but of 
their wishes, rights and requirements as human 
beings. 

As they came in toward the town, he chose a 
more unfrequented street by which to reach his 
home. Satia was trembling now, in her eagerness 
to be with Maynard, of whom they had been speak- 
ing. They decided that he should not be told of 
her close relation to him until after leaving Zadoc. 
He was at the window with Kelsie, as they drove 
up. 

“ The blessed Lord in heaven be praised !” that 
good woman cried, clasping her hands as she caught 


Husba^id mid Wife, 327 

sight of Satia. “ He has brought our dear lamb 
home to us again." She needed but one glimpse of 
the faces of the two to know that all was right 
between them. 

Maynard saw only his father and flew to meet 
him. He looked a moment, surprised, at the lady 
who was coming in the gate and who stepped 
quickly forward toward him. Then he sprang into 
her outstretched arms, with a glad cry : 

“ My dee, darling Fairy ! Oh, I thought you 
never were coming." 

Satia could not say one word in return. She only 
kissed him over and over again, pressed him to her 
heart as though she could never let him go. With 
her arms still around him, and Morris close upon 
the other side, she came into her home. 

Kelsie’s beaming countenance made any speech 
on her part quite unnecessary, and she soon under- 
stood, from Morris’ brief explanation, the fiction of 
“ Mrs. Sutherland." There were no happier people 
in the whole world than these four that afternoon. 

It was found impossible to keep the glad truth 
from Maynard. His delight knew no bounds when 
he learned that his beloved “ Fairy ’’ and the beauti- 
ful mamma, who, though unseen, had always been 
the idol of his childish heart, had come to him in 
one and the same person. 


328 


Moj'ris Julia7is Wife, 


Maynard was a slender lad, tall for his age, and 
as bright and manly as he was handsome. His 
golden hair and large brown eyes were a picture of 
his mother’s when a little girl, but he had his 
father’s clear-cut features. As he stood before 
Satia, comparing her real self with the photograph 
of her which his papa had given him for his own, 
her heart thrilled with pride and thankfulness that 
she was blessed with such a son. 

You are just the same, mamma — just the same, 
except your hair, and I think it is so much prettier 
this way.” He laid his hand upon the soft white 
coils. “This looks so lovely; like a picture, 
mamma.” 

Satia laughed happily. She was thinking the 
same of him. 

She and Morris talked late that night. There 
was much to be arranged for the immediate future. 
She told him of her home at “ Unserheim,” and her 
plans concerning it. 

“You will have to give that up, dear,” he said, 
very gently, yet with unmistakable meaning. “ At 
least, you cannot live there now, because 

“ Because why, milord ?” she asked, as he hes- 
itated. Her lips were curving with a mischievous 
smile. 


329 


Husband arid Wife. 

“ Because I am going back to our old home to 
live, and you ” 

“ And I Well ?” Her smile of amusement 

deepened into a low laugh. 

“Do you want to hear me say it?" he asked, 
smiling, too, then. “ Well, you are to come with 
me, of course." 

“ Of course 1 am ; and I want to have Christine 
Jansen take my place at Unserheim. I think you 
said that they are on a little farm near Omaha, 
did you not ?" 

“ Yes ; they have been there for the last three 
years or more." 

“ Do you think it will be possible to induce them 
to leave and go to Unserheim ?" 

“ I am quite sure she will do anything for you, 
Satia," her husband replied. 

“ And don’t you think she will do well there? 
She is so gentle and kind-hearted, and yet she 
has plenty of firmness, too." 

“Yes, answered Morris, with a peculiar smile; 
“ I have no doubt of Mrs. Jansen’s firmness." 



GHAPTER XXXII. 

CONCLUSION. 

The next morning, Morris, with Satia and Mayn- 
ard, took the early train East, leaving Zadoc in 
blissful ignorance of “Jane Suthlun’s” departure. 
They found Christine very happy in a tiny home 
of her own, with two flaxen-haired boys, whom she 
displayed with true motherly pride. 

“ I always thought when I used to see you in 
your father’s home in Bergen,” said Satia, when 
she found opportunity to speak of the matter she 
had at heart, “ that you were born to be a mother. 
And now I’ve come to ask you to be a mother 
to my ten little girls in Virginia.” 

Christine’s blue eyes opened to their widest extent. 
She glanced from Satia to Morris and then to 
Maynard. 

“ Oh, of course,” laughed Satia. “ They are not 
my very own. I have only this tall fellow,” laying 
her hand affectionately on the boy’s shoulder. 
“ But they are my little girls, too.” 

[330] 


Conclusion. 


331 


Then she unfolded her plans and told Christine 
what had already been done. Ole was consulted, 
and both he and his wife decided to accept Satia's 
liberal offer and to take charge of the farm and the 
home at Unserheim. 

Arriving at Pleasant Pines, Satia found that 
everything had been prospering during her absence. 
Her appearance as Mrs. Sutherland no longer, but 
as Mrs. Julian, with so aristocratic a looking hus- 
band and so handsome a son, naturally created a 
great deal of astonishment among her devoted and 
simple-hearted assistants. In her own gracious 
way, she told them all that it was necessary for them 
to know, and that she should now give the care of 
the place to some dear friends of hers. 

“ You will find Mrs. Jansen the kindest, sweetest 
woman in the world, especially to little children, 
and you all will love her very much, I am sure. I 
shall come often from New York to see you, so we 
will only say good-bye for a short time.” 

Morris had soon returned to Zadoc and resigned 
his judgeship, to the great disappointment of his 
warm supporters there. He found it difficult to 
give them any satisfactory reason for doing this. 
The truth he could not tell; so he simply said that 
his own private and personal affairs required his 
permanent removal to the East. 


332 Morris Juliafis Wife. 


“ VVa’al, jedge,” said the spokesman of a crowd 
who came to his home to bid him good-bye, “ wa’al, 
jedge, ef ye say ye’ve got ter go, we’ve got ter grin 
an’ bear it ; but it comes tough, jedge — it comes 
tough. Ye’ve bin er good friend ter Zadoc an’ 
she’ll not forgit ye, jedge, not ef ye don’t come 
back fer a thousand years — oh, pshaw ! — I don’t 
mean thet air,” as a roar of laughter interrupted 
him. “ I mean ef it is er thousand years before ye 
— darn it all, fellers, 1 told ye I couldn’t make no 
speech ! Here, jedge, shake, an’ God bless ye.” 

Morris wished that Satia could have heard these 
words and seen the hearty good-will which showed 
itself in the mighty grasp with which each of these 
rough fellows shook his hand at parting. 

This was almost his last act in Zadoc. The little 
cabin in the valley had given Satia’s things to 
Kelsie’s safe-keeping, and then gone up to the winds 
in mounting flame. Morris felt that he could 
breathe easier if it were out of existence. His 
house had been sold as it stood, for he knew that 
Satia could never be brought there to live so long 
as anyone remembered “ Jane Suthlun.” 

His trunks and Kelsie’s were packed and ready 
for their homeward journey ; for such the happy 
man felt this setting forth to truly be. 


Coficlusion, 


333 


He could not keep his joy to himself ; he shared 
it with the faithful soul beside him, 

“ Kelsie,” he said, turning to her with a glad 
smile, as the train pulled away from Zadoc’s glaring 
new station — “ Kelsie, we are going home.” 

“ Praise the Lord, Master Morris!” fervently 
answered she. 

It was but a few days before Christmas when they 
reached Unserheim. Christine was already there, 
and Satia remained to give her children a right royal 
Christmas festivity. Then, with Morris and Mayn- 
ard and little Daisy, she started for the home which 
had so long missed her presence. 

Daisy had been legally adopted by her, upon her 
father’s death, two or three years previously. So 
Maynard regarded her as his sister. She was not a 
pretty child, but had one of those happy, healthy, 
sunny natures which gladden everyone they 
meet, as the sunbeams do. 

It was upon the last day of the old year that the 
husband and wife crossed the threshold of their 
former home. It had been put in perfect order, and 
Kelsie had gone on before them, to be there to wel- 
come back the honored master and mistress. 

It was a trying moment for Satia, Until now she 
had not been with Morris in any of their accustomed 
places. Old memories, old sorrows, and old joys 


334 


Morris Julian's Wife. 


too, rushed over her in a flood. As she stood beside 
him in their own room, she realized as she had not 
done before the enormity of her action in leaving 
him. She flushed and paled. She tried in vain to 
still the tumultuous throbbing of her heart. Morris 
was very near her, scarcely less agitated than she. 
He knew that it was a crucial moment. After what 
seemed like an eternity of suspense, she turned to 
him. 

“ Oh, Morris she cried, “ can you ever for- 
give me ?” 

He did not answer her in words ; but as she rested 
in his embrace, and felt his kisses upon her hair, her 
brow, her lips, she knew that they were for the first 
time trul}^ united. 


And so their new life began. It is not now a me 
of pleasure simply,- but one filled with many respon- 
sibilities. Morris has his business cares; Satia those 
of her home and children ; while together they 
attend to social, benevolent, religious duties. They 
have many interests outside of their own home-circle. 
Chief among these is the little family at Unserheim. 
The older girls, as they come East to school, come 
also from time to time into this home enriched with 
all that is beautiful and refining and artistic, and into 


Coficlusion. 


335 


a domestic circle where they see a true manhood 
and a lovely, gracious womanhood. 

Elsa, too, has been borrowed for an indefinite 
period from Aunt Hester’s numerous brood up in 
the country. She has more than fulfilled the rich 
promise of her maidenhood, both in personal beauty 
and brightness of mind. Her old love for and 
admiration of Satia is as strong as ever, and she 
can never begin to express her joy at being with 
her once more. 

“ You are our sister now, Elsa, in very truth, for- 
ever,” said Satia, one day. “We are never going 
to let her go, are we, Morris.^” she asked, as he 
joined them. 

“ I don’t know about ‘ forever,’ Satia,” he 
replied, looking down at the fair, sweet face of the 
girl ; “ somebody might think we were very selfish.” 

Elsa blushed and ran away, and Morris held out a 
letter and a package to his wifd. 

“ From Mrs. Cameron !” she exclaimed, delighted. 
“And what can this be She quickly took off the 
wrappings from which he had already cut the 
string. 

“ Doctor Cameron !” both said at the same time, 
as she held up a large photograph. 

Morris looked at the well-remembered face with 
an unusual gravity upon his own. The clear, steady 


336 


Moi^ris Julian's Wife, 


eyes of the picture met his frankly, just as he knew 
their owner’s would, were he at that moment with 
them in the flesh. He made no comment on the 
photograph. Satia, noticing this, turned to him. 

“ Is it not a perfect likeness, Morris ?” 

“ Yes,” he answered, absently. He was thinking 
of Kenneth as he stood upon the Glasgow pier. 
Satia glanced at her husband again. She had never 
seen such an expression on his face. 

“What is it, dear?” she asked gently. “Don’t 
you like j^Doctor Cameron? Would you rather I 
did not have this picture of him ?” 

“ Like him !” cried Morris, the blood rushing to 
his face as he sprang to his feet and walked excit- 
edly up and down the room — “ like him ! Why, 
Satia, Kenneth Cameron is the noblest man God 
ever made !” 

He came presently and stood beside her. He 
stroked her hair tenderly, and she knew that in 
some way he had been deeply moved. She guessed 
that it had some reference to the year during which 
he had already said that he had been much with 
Kenneth ; but she never asked him what it was, and 
he never told her. 

Mrs. Cameron’s letter was like a glimpse of her 
own dear self. After several pages of bright chat, 
ghe wrote : 


Conchision. 


337 


“ I canna forbear sendin’ you one o’ Kenneth’s 
new pictures. They are much the best I have ever 
seen, an’ I want you to have one o’ them. But dinna 
let the proud fellow ken o’ it, my bonnie ; he’s just 
as modest as he is good, an’ he’d scold me roundly 
for bein’ sae silly, as he’d say, as to send his printed 
face across the sea. Sae hang it somewhere in your 
pretty home, Satia, an’ when ye look at it, think that 
you’re lookin’ at a gude an’ faithfu’ friend.” 

Satia did as she was bidden, and oftentimes in the 
months which followed she found herself gazing 
into those deep, earnest eyes and wishing, she 
scarcely knew why, that she could bring a smile to 
them. 

The next Christmas brought to her arms another 
little son. He was not a duplicate of Maynard, but 
a blue-eyed Julian through and through. 

“ God grant that he may be a better man than I,” 
prayed his father, as he regarded the tiny face so 
curiously like his own. Satia was scarcely sur- 
prised when he said to her : 

“ Let us call him Kenneth Cameron, dear. He is 
the one man in all the world that 1 want him to be 
like.” 

The eyes of the wife plainly expressed a different 
opinion ; but Morris did not see them. He was 
looking at the photograph which hung just above 
the baby’s cradle. She made no objection, how- 


338 


Morf't's Julians Wife. 


ever, and straightway a letter went across tlie water 
bearing news of the coming to this world of 
Kenneth Cameron Julian. 

And the “ noblest man God ever made ?” He 
read this letter with a full heart. If there is an 
abiding pain mingled with his gladness, no one ever 
knows it. He still works faithfully, lovingly, at St. 
Luke’s. He goes more often than formerly to the 
little white-haired mother, who sometimes silently 
puts her arms about him and draws his head to its 
childhood’s pillow. She never speaks at such times, 
but each knows of what the other is thinking. He 
tries to be to her, as her beautiful life draws near 
its close, both son and daughter, for he has never 
brought a daughter to the old home. 

Sometimes, as she reads to him the long, delight- 
ful letters which Satia often writes of her home, 
her husband, her little ones, and the many-sided, 
happy life which is rounding up her character into 
the fullness of a perfect maturity, he thinks that he 
will take a holiday and run over to see her. 

But he does not come. Some day, perhaps, he 
will ; but he cannot yet — not yet. 


THE END. 


A Story of a Strange Disappearance, 


WAS SHE WIFE OR WIDOW ? 

BY 

MALCOLM BELL. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY F. A. GARTER. 


12mo. 318 Pages. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


It is a most excellent novel, provoking curiosity to the utmost 
and holding the interest at the highest to the end. We never 
read anything quite like it before. “ Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde ” 
is not more strange and not more interesting. To enter into the 
plot of the story would not give a correct and adequate idea of 
the author’s conception and the admirable manner in which it is 
worked out. It is as good as one of Gaboriau’s detective stories. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, post- 
paid, on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

■ ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

■ Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


The Breach of Custom 


TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN 


BV 

Mrs. D. M. Lowrey 


WITH CHOICE ILLUSTRATIONS BY O. W, SIMONS. 


Paper Cover, 60 Cents. Boxmd Volume, $1.00. 


This is a translation of an interesting and beautiful German 
novel, introducing an artist and his family, and dealing with the 
most pathetic* circumstances and situations. The heroine is an 
ideal character. Her self-sacrifice is noble and exalted, and the 
influence which radiates from her is pure and ennobling. Every 
one who reads this book will feel that it is one which will be a 
life influence. Few German stories have more movement or are 
more interesting. There are great variety and charm in the 
characters and situations. 

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price by 

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182 William Street, New York. 


GLORIA 


a MowL 


BY 

MRS. E..D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH, 

Author of “ The Hidden Hand," “ The Unloved Wife," 
Lilith y' Unknown ‘‘A Leap in the Darky ^ 

Nearest and Dearesty' For Woman's 
Lovey" The Lost Lady of Loitey" 

David Lindsay y" etc., etc, 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY F. A. CARTER. 


12mo. 348 Pagres. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


The heroine of this novel is one of the most interesting of Mrs. 
Southworth’s charming girls. She is almost as good as Capitola, 
the delightful madcap of ^‘The Hidden Hand.” Her perfect 
naturalness and gayety are so winning that no one can read her 
history without loving her. The story is full of the charm of 
unsophisticated girlhood and womanhood. We are not claiming 
too much when we say that Mrs. Southworth is one of the most 
engaging writers of fiction that this country has produced. Her 
novels have a larger circulation among the people than those 
of any other American writer. She has the gift of making her 
stories interesting, and filling them with pleasant incidents and 
characters, so that when the reader has finished one he wants 
to take up another. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

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WIFE AND WOMAN; 

OR, 

A TANGLED SKEIN. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF 

L. Haidheim. 

By MARY J- SAFFORD. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY F, A. CARTER. 


12mo. Beautifully Illustrated. Handsomely Bound In Cloth, 
Price, $1.00. Paper Cover, 50 Cents, 


** A thoroughly good society novel.” This is the verdict of a 
bright woman after reading this story. It belongs to the Marlitt 
school of society novels, and the author is a favored contributor 
to the best periodicals of Germany. It has a good plot, an 
abundance of incident, very well drawn characters and a good 
ending. There is no more delightful story for a summer holiday. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

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A SON OF OLD HARRY. 

21 Nooel. 


BY 

ALBION W. TOURGEE, 

Author of A Fool's Errand f Bricks Without Straw," 
Figs and Thistles," Hot Plowshares," etc. 


WITH ILLUSTBATIONS BY WABBEN B. DAVIS. 

12mo. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.60. 


Judge Tourgee gives to his admirers fresh cause of rejoicing, 
in his new novel, “ A Son of Old Harry.” Nothing more origi- 
nal and more true to life and nature has ever appeared in America 
than this story of the Kentucky blue-grass region and its horses 
and horse-loving people. No reader of his novels needs to be 
told that Judge Tourgee loves a horse. His horses are some- 
thing more than mere incidents or furniture ; they are actual 
characters, and so linked with the personality and fortunes of his 
people that they are essential to the action and development ol 
the novel. In A Son of Old Harry,” he has given a free rein 
to his pen in dealing with a subject so near his heart. It contains 
the best that he has to give on the subject. The sweet and pure 
love history, which forms the groundwork, and the thrilling inci- 
dents of the war in Kentucky, which form an important part, 
give the novel immense interest. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, / 

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THE TWO HUSBANDS; 

OR, 

BURIED SECRETS. 

BY 

MRS. HARRIET LEWIS. 

Author of Her Double Lifef Lady Kildare f Edda^s 
Birthrightf BeryVs Husband f etc. 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY F, ^A. CARTER. 


12mo. 402 Pages. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


This is one of the most interesting of Mrs. Lewis’s novels. It 
opens with the quest for an heiress. Some of the chapter-headings 
are full of suggestiveness, as, for instance : “The Night Before 
the Wedding,” “Husband and Wife,” “Affairs Take a Strange 
Turn,” “A Conflict,” “ Now for Revenge,” “ Explanations,” etc. 
There is a plot and strong situations, and abundance of incident 
and movement in the story. Mrs. Lewis never failed to write a 
novel that would hold the reader from the first to the last chapter 
and satisfy the desire for agreeable excitement. To all who have 
read and admired “Her Double Life” we recommend “The 
Two Husbands.” 

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THE NORTHERN LIGHT 


TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF 


E. WERNER, 


BY 

Mrs. D. M. Lowrey. 


12mo. 873 Pagres. Handsomely Bound in Cloth, Price, $1.00. 
Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


Since the death of the author of ^^Old Ma’mselle’s Secret,” 
Werner is the most popular of living German writers. Her 
novels are written with great literary ability, and possess the 
charm of varied character, incident and scenery. ‘‘ The Northern 
Light ” is one of her most characteristic stories. The heroine is 
a woman of great beauty and strength of individuality. No less 
interesting is the young poet who, from beginning to end, con- 
stantly piques the curiosity of the reader. 

For sale by all booksellers, or sent, postpaid, on receipt of 
price, by 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, Publishers, 

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THE COUNTRY DOCTOR 

% JJodeI. 

BY 

HONORS DE BALZAC, 

Author of Cesar Birotteauf The Alchemist f Cousin 
Ponsf Eugenie Grandetf etc.y etc. 

Translated from the French by Mrs. Fred. M. Dey. 

WITM ILLUSTRATIONS BY WARREN B. DAVIS. 

12mo. 350 Fagres. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


'‘The Country Doctor” is one of Balzac’s greatest creations. 
It is the portrait of an ideal man in a situation where superior 
ability and knowledge enable him to raise a whole community to 
a higher level of morality, prosperity and intelligence. It is a 
study in social science far more valuable than dull treatises and 
histories of social experiments. It is full of human interest and 
feeling and that wonderful realism which makes all of Balzac’s 
works like veritable stories of real life. The heroine is a creature 
of rare beauty and charm. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, post- 
paid, on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

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THE LITTLE COUNTESS 


BY 

E. VON DINCKLAGE, 

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN 


By S. E. BOGGS. 


WITH ILLU8TBATI0N8 BY WABREN B. I)AVJ8. 


12mo. 318 Fag-es. Handsomely Bound in Cloth.. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 

‘‘ The Little Countess” is a delightful novel. It is full of life 
and movement, and, in this respect, is superior to most transla- 
tions from the German. It is distinctly a story to be read for 
pure enjoyment. The little countess belongs to an ancient and 
noble family. She is left an orphan in a lonely old castle, with a 
few servants and pets. Her heroic temper sustains her in every 
trial. The part played by an American girl in the story is very 
amusing, and shows what queer ideas are entertained of American 
women by some German novelists. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

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A CAPITAL AMERICAN STORY. 


UNDER A CLOUD. 

« 

BY JEAN KATE LUDLUM, 

Author of ** Under Oathf etc* 


ILLUSTRATED BY WARREN B. DAVIS. 


12xno. 300 Pages. With Ntimerous lUtistrations. Handsomely 
Bound in Cloth, Price, $1.00. Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


It was once asked by a celebrated Englishman : ‘‘Who reads 
an American Book ?” The question is no longer a conundrum. 
American books are the popular reading of the present day. 
“ Under a Cloud ” is a spirited and pathetic account of the trials 
of a New York lady, who, in consequence of a promise wrung 
from her by her father, is put into relations with her husband 
which are almost unprecedented. The chain of circumstances 
by which the husband is implicated in a crime and the heroic 
efforts of the wife to traverse this chain and unravel the mystery 
make a history of overpowering interest. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

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TRUE DAUGHTER 

OF HARTENSTEIN. 

3>Iood. 


TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN 

BY MARY J. SAFFORD, 

Translator of “ Wife and Woman f Little Heather-Blossom f 
‘‘ True Daughter of Hartensteinf etc.^ etc. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY WARREN B. DAVIS. 


12iuo. 350 Pages. Handsomely Bo\ind in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 
Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


Miss Safford’s translations from the German are invariably in 
teresting. All who have read “ Little Heather-Blossom ” will be 
delighted with this exquisite companion story. The heroine pos- 
sesses every charming attribute of rare womanhood, in whom 
love is always the predominating motive. The scenes and cir- 
cumstances are new and strange, and the course of the story 
passes from one interesting situation to another, so that the read- 
er’s interest is never relaxed. This novel takes us out of the 
groove of every-day life, and introduces us to scenes and charac- 
ters altogether fresh and original. The weird and prophetic 
gypsy character gives it a touch of mystery. It is altogether a 
most perfect and delightful story. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, post- 
paid, on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

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THE 


IMPROVISATORE; 


OR, 

LIFE IN ITALY. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH OF 

Hans Christian Andersen, 

By MARY HOWITT. 

ILLUSTRATED BY HARRY O, EDWARDS. 


12mo. Boimd in Cloth, $1.00. Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


This is an entrancing romance dealing with the classic scenes 
of Italy. To those who desire to behold with their own eyes 
those scenes, it will create a fresh spring of sentiment, and fill 
them with unspeakable longing. To those who have visited the 
fair and memory-haunted towers and towns of Florence, Rome 
and Naples, it will revive their enthusiasm and refresh their 
knowledge. Andersen published this novel immediately after 
his return from Italy, and it created an extraordinary effect. 
Those who had depreciated the author’s talent came forward 
voluntarily and offered him their homage. It is a work of such 
singular originality and beauty that no analysis or description 
could do it justice, and the universal admiration which it at once 
excited has caused it to be read and reread throughout the world. 

. For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt ot price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


EUGENIE GRANDET. 


TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF 

Honore De Balzac. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY JAMES FAGAN, 


12xno. Bound in Cloth, $1.00. Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


‘‘Eugenie Grandet” is one of the greatest of novels. It is the 
history of a good woman. Every student of French is familiar 
with it, and an opportunity is now afforded to read it in a good 
English translation. The lesson of the book is the hideousness 
of the passion of the miser. Eugenie’s father is possessed by it 
in a degree of intensity probably unknown in America, and to 
our public it will come as a revelation. What terrible suffering 
he inflicts upon his family by his ferocious economy and unscru- 
pulousness only Balzac’s matchless narrative could show. The 
beautiful nature of Eugenie shines like a meteor against the black 
background, and her self-sacrifice, her sufferings and her superb 
strength of character are wrought out, and the story brought to a 
climax, with the finest intellectual and literary power and dis- 
crimination. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

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